Latura of Redwall, Book II: A Meeting, Unexpected and Ordained
by Highwing
Summary: "The Seer hides the Seer / From seers gone before ... "
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

"Ahhh! Take a gander at that glorious sight, me hearties, an' tell me true that that ain't th' sweetest thing any landlubber could ever wanna see, yarr harr!"

Lieutenant Custis shot Montybank a dour sideways glance. "Funny, I thought you were an Abbey otter, not a high-seas corsair."

"Guess I should've brought along my Cluny eyepatch," Winokur chortled from the Skipper's other side.

The three of them stood, along with Foremole, Log-a-Log and Pirkko, upon the banks of the River Moss, gazing across the wide, gently-flowing watercourse, its lazy currents rippling and shimmering under the bright springtime sun. Even with their heavy, unwieldy carts slowing their progress along the forest trails, they'd still reached the Moss and rendezvoused with the advance party by mid-afternoon, and now the Redwallers and Guosim bound for the quarry and Gawtrybe bound for Foxguard were all gathered together at this single jumping-off point.

And what a point it was. The broad expanse of the Moss glittered and danced before them like some great rippling serpent, languid and magnificent. Not all of the travellers, however, show the same enthusiasm over this river panorama as Monty and the other otters.

"Your tails are made to be in the water," Custis said to him. "Ours aren't. I just want to be across, and as quickly as may be."

"Burr hurr," Foremole heartily agreed, "oi'd ruther be on one soide or ee other, not in ee muddle. May'aps uz cudd floiy over et, or tunnel doawn below on ee unnersoide of ee gurt watterway?"

"Don't think we'll be flying, unless Lord Urthblood sends a squadron of his tame eagles our way to act as carriers," said Winokur. "And even then, they might find some of us otters a bit much to bear ... although I daresay they'd probably have no trouble carrying a mole, a shrew or even a squirrel."

"Pah!" Log-a-Log spat. "Us Guosim're riverbeasts ev'ry bit as much as you waterdogs! No feathery menace is gonna scoop us up in its scaly talons t' get us where we wanna go, not when we got good stout cargo rafts 'n' logboats t' ply these currents! I'm almost insulted, friend Foremole, that you'd show so liddle faith in our boat-craftin' skills. Trust yer crossin' t' us, an' ye'll not get so much as a wet whisker ner damp diggin' claw!"

"Oi serpintly do 'ope so, zurr Log, an' oi'll 'old ee to et. Uz molers be moighty unfond of ee wet, an' moighy fond of stayen droi, burr hurr!"

Custis was clearly impatient to be off. "Well, are we going to stand here all day, flapping our jaws and playing sightseer, or are we going to get going?"

The otters and moles regarded the squirrel lieutenant with mild surprise. "We just busted our rudders draggin' loaded carts through the thick o' Mossflower Wood, with nary a break," Monty reminded him. "I'da thunk ye'd be wantin' to rest up 'ere 'til th' morrow, give yore squirrels a chance to regain their oomph."

"Oh, we'll get our rest in, don't you worry. We'll be sitting on our tails all during the crossings, And, as you've pointed out, there aren't enough rafts to take us and our carts all across in a single trip. That means there'll always be some of us sitting on one bank or the other, waiting for the rest of us."

Although he could never have known it, Custis had just invoked the exact same tactical logic employed by Lord Urthfist and the Long Patrol two summer earlier, whilst dealing with a cantankerous ferry shrew named Fitkin during their mad dashes back and forth between Salamandastron and Redwall.

"Hmm. Makes sense, I s'pose. An' it ain't like ye've not got a head start already ... " Monty and the others gazed across the Moss to where some of the Guosim had established a temporary camp; the boatbuilding teams, knowing to expect the quarry-bound expedition and the remainder of the Gawtrybe sometime during the second half of this day, had ferried some of their numbers to the opposite banks in anticipation of the larger group's arrival. A few of the squirrel archers sat amongst them; between the Gawtrybe's shafts and Guosim slingstones and blades, no foebeast was likely to trouble the encampments on either side of the river.

Custis craned his head back; here on the banks where the forest canopy opened up - even moreso now with the recent felling of many trees for the making of the rivercraft - the clear blue dome of sky was clearly visible, along with the rearing tower of Foxguard, now much closer than it had appeared from any point within Redwall, and the first any of the travellers had glimpsed of it since leaving the Abbey. "There's too much daylight left to waste it idling here. We may even be able to get all of our carts across before the light fails. And most of the Gawtrybe as well. Now that we're getting well into spring, evening's taking its time arriving, a little later each day."

"Aye, that's true 'nuff," Monty agreed. "And we oughta be able t' get our cart across too well 'fore sundown. Glad we only brought one!"

"Ours take priority," Custis said with a stiff, prim authority. "We're expected at Foxguard. You've got all season to open your quarry, and the season after that too, if need be."

The squirrel's commanding and dismissive tone rankled Montybank. "Hey, now wait there just a shake, matey - " the otter Skipper started to object, but Winokur, ever vigilant for any opportunity to play peacemaker, quickly interceded.

"No need for heated words or arguments over resources here, friends! In case you've both forgotten, we Redwallers have a ferry barge of our own, and it's more than big enough to carry our cart, and a few of us besides! So we'll just lay claim to what's ours, and that will still leave enough of the big log rafts the advance party lashed together to get all the Gawtrybe carts across in just a trip or two!"

"Yes, well, I suppose that would work," Custis grudgingly conceded, although his tone suggested that he would have liked nothing better than to commandeer the Abbey raft for his tribe's use as well. However, even the pushy, businesslike squirrel officer realized that this would hardly sit well with his Redwall allies, and that even here in the wilds of Mossflower far outside the Abbey walls, his authority among these creatures had its limits.

"Wink makes sense, as always," Log-a-Log readily concurred. "We didn't spend days out here ahead of you stragglers sittin' on _our_ tails! We got plenny o' craft prepared - enuff t' get ev'ry squirrel here an' yer loads ferried 'crost by nightfall, with daylight t' spare!"

"Very well," Custis said, apparently mollified. "I'll hold you to that. So, what are we waiting for? Let's get started."

In no time at all, the Guosim and the Abbey otters had the four ferry rafts lined up along the bank, their nearer edges tucked securely into the mud to allow for easy loading of the wagons. The three barges recently made by the boatbuilding team dwarfed the Redwallers' old raft at nearly twice the size; nevertheless, it was decided, just to be on the safe side, that only a single Gawtrybe cart would be taken on each raft during each crossing, which would necessitate two sets of trips. Custis held his tongue and refrained from voicing any further impatience over this, since this arrangement would also allow quite a few of his squirrels to cross along with each cart.

Monty and Winokur decided to join the Abbey cart on its crossing, along with several of their fellow otters. Each of them was given a long pole and instructed by the Guosim to take up positions along the edges of the simple craft, while Foremole huddled in the middle practically under the cart, as far from the water as the limited deck space allowed.

"Good thing we got lots o' strappin' otters 'ere now t' help punt us across!" Log-a-Log said with a hearty guffaw. "Saves us shrews from overstrainin' ourselves, harrharr!"

Monty studied the poles they'd been given. "Hey, Log matey, there's no paddle on any o' these! We can't punt our way clear to the other side - river's too deep in its middle!"

"Ahhaha! Don'tcha think we're waterbeasts enuff ourselves t' realize that? This ain't our first time on th' Moss - an' we got it all worked out, ye'll see!"

As the quartet of rafts prepared to push off, their passengers and crews saw the Guosim lower four of their newly-wrought logboats into the water beside them, and Monty soon saw what Log-a-Log had in mind. Using their punting poles, the Redwall otters and the Gawtrybe squirrels quickly had their ferries away from the bank and out into the main currents, and at first they had no trouble pushing against the riverbed to propel their craft. But as they neared the deeper middle of the Moss, they encountered precisely the dilemma Monty had predicted, their poles too short to reach the bottom.

"Too bad Log-a-Log didn't have time t' fashion steering rudders fer these floatin' platforms," the otter Skipper lamented. "If'n we had 'em, we coulda just angled 'em right to cut across these currents an' - ooof!"

While Monty had stood ruminating on the shrew chieftain's lack of foresight, one of the logboats butted prow-on against the stern of their Abbey raft with a jarring clunk. Monty turned to see Log-a-Log waving to him from the midst of the smaller vessel, a cocky grin on his face.

"Ahoy there, Skip matey! Adrift an' astray, are we? Well, just lay up yer puntin' poles fer a spell, an' let shrewpower take over!"

For the next few minutes, the shrew logboat, driven by ten pairs of strong sure paws, acted as a tugboat, pushing the Abbey raft through the main currents at the center of the river and toward the swirling eddies near the opposite shore. The Redwallers seized this opportunity to follow their shrew allies' advice and lay down their poles, resting their thick tails against the smooth worn wood of their simple craft.

"Ah, that feels good on these old nautical bones!" Monty exulted as he sat on the raft's edge, dangling his footpaws into the water while the Guosim did all the work for the moment. "Those overachievin' squirrels might not have cared a whit whether they got to take a breather on this trek, but this Abbey otter knows enuff t' welcome a liddle downtime after a jaunt through the thick woods like that!"

Winokur lowered himself onto the raft alongside his mentor from his pre-Order days, but refrained from dabbling any of his body parts overboard out of deference to his habit and the scribe's materials in his satchel. Gazing at the sky and feeling the sun on his fur and the river breeze in his whiskers, he said, "I can't help but be reminded of the last time we took this ferry of ours - you, me, Foremole ... and Vanessa too."

This did more to somber up Monty than the cold flow washing past his webbed toes. "Aye, I know whatcher mean, Wink. Our pore ol' Abbess left on that journey one way, an' came back an entirely diff'rent mousie. It's true, a cruise on th' Moss'll never hold th' same meanin' fer any of us after that. But hey, that's cause fer lookin' up as well! No two voyages could both have as sad an outcome as that one, so that bodes well for us now!"

Winokur grinned in admiration of his Skipper's optimistic cheek. "I like that thinking! And besides, it's that very same Vanessa who kept insisting that this 'Greenpup' of hers make this journey. Can't wish for a heartier endorsement than that, can you?"

Monty shook his head. "I know one mouse who's prob'ly wishin' she'd insisted he be off as well, just so that'd get him away from her. Pore Nessa - th' way she's been actin' lately especially. What're we gonna do with 'er?"

Winokur gave a resigned shrug inside his robes. "We leave it to fate, just like we have been. She'll get better or she won't, in her own time and in her own way. And we'll deal with the situation as best we can, just like the Redwallers we are."

Log-a-Log's crew had no trouble at all driving the Abbeybeasts' ferry forward, and soon the waters beneath them grew shallow enough that they were all back on their paws with poles at the ready, helping to stoke their way along with solid pushes against the riverbed. The other three logboat crews did not have things quite so easy; it was all they could do to push along the larger rafts built for the Gawtrybe carts. The Redwallers were fully landed and disembarked upon the far bank before the rest of their modest fleet was even two-thirds of the way across. By the time all four barges were securely stationed upon the riverbank mud, the shrews in the three logtugs wasted no time in piling out of their own beached craft to collapse on the grassy meadow above.

"Glad ... there's only ... one more trip ... t 'go ... after this," one of the recumbent shrews panted.

"Aw, Klugo, stop bein' a pansy!" Log-a-Log playfully chided. "You been tryin' t' win first prize fer bellyahcin' ever since you tapped yer paw at Redwall!"

"That weren't no mere tappin', Chief," Klugo protested. "T'were more like a right proper paw-mashin'! Sent me to the Infirmary, an' ev'rything! 'Sides, th' raft we was pushin' was twice th' size o' yers, an' twice as loaded too!"

Custis chipped in before Log-a-Log could castigate his exhausted shrews further. "My own squirrels will need a rest too before we can attempt another crossing. That poling took a lot out of them."

Monty couldn't resist taking a jab at Custis. "What, yore strong an' sturdy Gawtrybe, allers havin' t' be where they gotta get to, quick as may be, needin' a rest? These lugs o' mine must've got river mud in 'em!"

The squirrel lieutenant glowered at Montybank. "Yes, well, the muscles we use for racing through the treetops and pulling carts must be different than the ones needed for punting. Never doubt Gawtrybe strength or resolve, my friend. However, um ... that being said ... "

Monty leaned down toward Custis, paws on his knees, knowing what was coming and relishing it far more than he had any right to. "Eh, what's that, 'tenant?" he prompted with an impish grin.

"I don't suppose we could impose upon you to help us with our second crossing? It can't be denied that otters are far more suited to this kind of work than we are."

"Why, shore thing, matey!" Monty beamed. "We'd be more'n happy t' help out a fellow goodbeast in need, an' put our brawn t' work gettin' yore brushtails an' yore carts across t' this side! Wouldn't dream o' lettin' you down, now would we, Wink?"

Winokur couldn't help but share in his Skipper's mirth. "Why, of course not. That's the Redwall way, after all - granting aid to creatures who need it. And if those creatures happen to be our travel companions, all the better!"

"Shore is a god thing we brought so many strong, stout riverdogs along with us, ain't it?" Monty went on, unable to refrain from rubbing the officious squirrel's snout in it some more. "It'd be a right shame if ye hadta leave half yore company stranded back there on the other bank."

Custis straightened his tunic primly, clearly unamused by his boisterous travel mate. "Oh, nobeast would be stranded. We'd make sure we all got across even if we were on our own, without any otters _or_ shrews to lend us a paw. I simply thought I might ask a friendly favor to ease our labors, but if this is going to be your attitude, we'll settle for only the ridicule-free aid Log-a-Log has willingly provided so far, and do all the poling ourselves."

Monty came around to clap Custis on the shoulder. "'ey, no need fer gettin' yore fur all in a ruff, 'tenant. Just havin' a liddle fun with ye. You just lay back an' let us waterdogs do th' heavy liftin' while you rest yore fair brushes on th' grass 'ere."

"Much appreciated, Skipper," Custis bit off, his tone grudging.

Log-a-Log jumped in to brighten things up with a little shrewish enthusiasm. "Should still be plenny o' time fer at least two more crossin's 'fore sundown. We'll finish up with yer carts on th' next transit, then concentrate on ev'rybeast else. An' once all you Gawtrybe an' Abbeybeasts're across, no reason we shrews can't keep makin' passes by logboat come nightfall. We'll all be sleepin' on this shore t'night, you can count on it, or I ain't Log-a-Log of th' Guosim!"

00000000000

Log-a-Log held true to his promise to have the rest of the Gawtrybe carts - and most of the Gawtrybe themselves - safely delivered across the River Moss by sundown. Having the Redwall otters and the Abbey ferry at their disposal helped speed the task, and the longer springtime dusk gave them light to work by even after the red orb of the sinking sun vanished below the treetops to the west.

The change in the weather came quickly. As the Guosim and the otters made their third crossing, getting the rest of the squirrels and many of the remaining shrews over the river, heavy clouds rolled in, and by the time the moon rose in the east, that lunar lantern was completely hidden behind the thickly overcast skies.

"Hmm - gonna get rain fer sure," the shrew chieftain assessed, gauging the clouds overhead. "Mebbe heavy, too. Pity - I was hopin' t' have some moonlight t' work by, while we got th' rest of th' Guosim an' our logboats over here. Good thing we know these waterways enuff t' navigate by dark. Still, we'll see if we can't keep some cookfires goin' t' serve as a beacon for 'em. Otherwise, they''ll be paddlin' blind."

"Guess we couldn't expect perfect weather alla time," Monty observed. "Leastways it saw us through th' forest to th' river, an' mostly across it too. Can't ask fer bright sun ev'ry day an' clear moonlight ev'ry night besides. An' it is springtime, after all, so we'll be gettin' our fair share o' showers this season, unless there's a drought. Reckon we'll just hunker down 'neath our tent tarps fer one soggy even, an' hope it clears up by morn."

Foremole and his crew were less than ecstatic over the prospect of a damp sleep. "Burr hurr, oi doan't be loiken ee wet anymoar when et cumms doawn frum ee skoi than when et cumms frum ee rivver or pond, no zurr. Uz moler's much ruther be keepen our diggen claws droi while uz be asleepen, boi okay uz wudd."

"I suspected you Redwall lot might feel that way," Log-a-Log said with a knowing grin. "Which is why I put a little contingency in place fer just such a possibility. None o' you need stay out with only a fluttery tarp overhead t' keep you dry durin' yer slumbers. If'n you want, you c'n have a nice solid rock roof over yer heads this night!"

Winokur perked up at this, instantly guessing what their shrew ally had in mind. "You mean the quarry? How far is it from here? Will we be able to find our way to it once darkness falls?"

"Well, you can be sure it's not too far, Wink lad, elsewise Lord Urthblood woulda had a major pain luggin' all his stone fer Foxguard from there t' here. I'm half-surprised that badger didn't have a barge channel dug out from th' quarry to th' Moss, but that mighta been too big an undertakin' even fer that ambitious brute, 'specially consid'rin' ev'rything else he had goin' on at th' time. He seemed content with cartin' his stone fer that red tower out from th' mine pit to th' river. The trail they wore in th' land's still clearly visible, all these seasons later. It's almost like Urthblood built us a nice liddle road all our own, leadin' from here straight to where we gotta go!"

Custis narrowed his eyes at Log-a-Log. "And you would know all this, how?"

"Advance scouts, o' course! You think my shrews waited 'til just this morn t' make their first crossin'? We been scopin' out th' lay o' the land fer th' last couple o' days, soon as there was a finished logboat t' float 'em across! Some of 'em have even been to th' quarry already, scoutin' 'round 'n' makin' sure no nasty surprises were waitin' fer us there. Can't guarantee one hunnerd percent that it's serpent-free, but if any of them longbeasts're lurkin' about down in those tunnels, they'll think twice about strikin' out at us when they see our entire force of Guosim descendin' upon 'em, along with half o' Redwall's otters an' most o' their moles too!"

"Hurr, oi serpintly 'ope thurr be no zurrpints thurrabowts," Foremole worried. "Bein' et boi a zurrrpint wudd ruin moi sleep worser'n gettin' wet!"

"Oh, an' fer yer own infermation," Log-a-Log added to Custis, "there's room aplenty there fer yer carts too, if'n you don't want 'em standin' out in th' rain."

"They're well-covered and protected from the elements," the Gawtrybe lieutenant shot back. "We marched all the way from Salamandastron with them, remember? They were packed to withstand all weather."

Log-a-Log shrugged. "Suit yerself, matey. Just thought you an' yer squirrels might wanna keep yerselves an' yer belongin's dry if'n you could. Makes no diff'rence to us if you choose t' stay out in th' rain."

"I'm more concerned about losing travel time," Custis explained. "The shortest, most direct route to Foxguard from where we're standing now is straight along the riverbank. Having to haul our carts all the way to the quarry, and then all the way back here again in the morning, might prove more trouble than it's worth, and would certainly delay us unnecessarily if we never end up getting more than a drizzle or a light shower. Besides, how would we get our carts down into the quarry anyway?"

Log-a-Log's grin widened. "Well, don'tcher think I woulda taken that inta account 'fore mouthin' off any sorta invitation to ya? We got a cart of our own too, y' know. Come along, an' I'll show you exactly what I'm talkin' about. If we shift our tails an' get a move on, we might even make it there 'fore th' worst of any rain hits!"

Monty smirked in the light from the newly-started campfires. "Aw, that shouldn't be a problem fer these busybody bushtails - they're always in a hurry t' get a move on! Hey, 'tenant, will ye be needin' my otters t' help pull yore carts too?"

Custis glared at the otter Skipper without a word, then turned to his Gawtrybe to issue orders for moving their wagons inland.

00000000000

A soft, gentle spring rain was falling by the time their nocturnal procession reached the quarry - a destination which proved hard to miss, even in the wet darkness. Not only did the journeybeasts find the overgrown trail imprinted upon the earth by the passage of Urthblood's quarrying carts easy to make out by sight and feel, but Log-a-Log had instructed his advance party ahead to engage in certain preparations as well.

"Hey, what's that glow I see up ahead?" Monty inquired as he marched at the head of the plodding column alongside Winokur, paw to his brow to shield his eyes from the dripping droplets.

"Toldja I got some o' my shrews stationed at th' quarry!" the shrew chieftain boasted. "An' they're gonna give us all a right proper welcome, as ye'll be seein'!"

Nearly all the Gawtrybe had joined this inland exodus, along with over half the Guosim and the entire party from Redwall, which made sense since the Abbeybeasts and their shrew partners had no plans to move on once they arrived at the quarry. The only beasts who'd remained at the Moss were some of the Guosim still involved in the crossing, and a token pawful of Gawtrybe to help guard their now-diminished riverside campsite.

Passing over one final grassy rise, the grass-flattened and rutted trail of the Badger Lord's previous endeavors still providing a clear path for them to follow, the large company drew to a momentary halt as two surprises met their gazes.

The first was that they could actually see at all. Down on the floor of the vast terraced rock basin far below, a number of lanterns and lamps had been lit, illuminating the stark crags and rubble-strewn expanses quite clearly, at least to the travellers' night-accustomed eyes. It was hardly a harsh brilliance to behold, or even sufficient brightness to easily work by, but it served its purpose as far as letting everybeast above and below see their way around without fear of a perilous and possibly lethal misstep.

"How d'ya like it, fellers?" Log-a-Log asked. "When my scouts got here, they found a bunch o' work lamps Urthblood musta left b'hind from winter afore last. All-weather lanterns too, that'll light in rain or snow, an' enuff oil t' burn fer days! Nice liddle find, don'tcher think?"

"That badger does seem to think of everything," Winokur mused. "He's even considerate enough to leave supplies here for our use, seasons before we knew ourselves that we'd be reopening this quarry!"

"Ayup. Sumpthin' t' be said fer prophetic vision, ain't there?" Log-a-Log motioned them forward. "Well, are we gonna head down, or ain't we?"

This led to the second surprise which had greeted the journeybeasts upon cresting the grassy rise before the quarry: an immense ramp of rock sloping from the worksite floor all the way up to the rim where they stood, a gradual grade of solid stone with a surface smooth enough for wheeled wagons to easily pass up and down it.

"Well stand on moi tunnel!" Foremole declared. "Oi bain't ne'er see'd naught loik et!"

"Highwing mentioned this feature to us," Winokur added, "when we first learned Lord Urthblood had re-opened the quarry and he flew out here to investigate the matter for us. He and the Sparra were the only Redwall creatures who ever visited the quarry while Urthblood's moles were working on it, and even that badger himself had already departed for Salamandastron by the time we became aware of his activities here. I must say, our Sparra leader's descriptions were clearly inadequate to convey the scale of this incline."

"Knew ye'd be impressed!" Log-a-Log laughed. "Way I figger it, woulda took any ordinary work crew th' better part of a season t' pile up a ramp like this, but knowin' that badger, wouldn't be surprised if they got in done in a matter o' days. An' keep in mind this was just a convenience fer speedin' along his task o' movin' th' stone he needed fer buildin' Foxguard, an' not even th' main endeavor here!"

The others shared his awe. "Just when you start to think Urthblood can't surprise you any more," Winokur muttered.

Even Custis stood impressed by the masonry spectacle on display before them. "Indeed. But will it be sufficient to allow our carts to get down there safely?"

"Don't see why not," Log-a-Log said dismissively. "Stone-haulin' carts is what is was designed fer, wasn't it?"

"Yes - for hauling fully-loaded carts _up_ the incline, and empty ones back down again," the Gawtrybe lieutenant pointed out. "We'll be doing just the reverse: pulling laden carts down. And this drizzle may well render that stone slippery underpaw. I can see a nasty accident taking place, if we're not exceedingly careful."

"Burr, ee'm be roight," Foremole readily agreed. "Ee carts moight roll for'ard, an' be too 'eavy furr anybeast pullin' 'em to stop. They'm be runned over an' flatterned!"

"So, we leave the carts up here?" Winokur surmised.

"Nay, no need furr et, Maister Winkker. Uz'll just roll ee carters doawn backsoide furst, one at ee toime, with nobeast en ee way who moight be runned over."

"Good logical mole sense there," Custis concurred. "I can see your quarrying operations here will rest in very capable paws indeed."

"You'm mean diggen claws, doan't ee, gudd zurr?" Foremole corrected with a cheeky, crinkle-eyed smile as he flexed the formidable curved digits of his paws.

They decided to wait with the carts and keep those unwieldy vehicles to the end, allowing all the Guosim and moles and most of the Gawtrybe to file down the long stone ramp first. This they did in good time, the rain not yet making the sloped surface particularly slick or hazardous, as long as everybeast proceeded at a measured pace with careful footfalls. Whatever construction techniques Urthblood and his own moles had employed in the design of this multistory thoroughfare, they served the purpose exceedingly well - to the surprise of nobeast there whatsoever.

Once all the walkers were safely down on the quarry floor, then came the more challenging task of wrangling the heavy carts along the rock slope. Everybeast was kept clear of the ramp's base, held back at a safe distance lest a runaway wagon might come careening down at dangerous speeds. Up above, Montybank oversaw the operation from that end, having four of his otters take firm hold of the hauling hafts of a Gawtrybe cart and maneuver it, cargo bed first, over the lip of the ramp and onto the incline. It took their full brawn and their tightest grip to hold onto the cart during its gradual, painstaking descent, and at one point the left wheel nearly went over the edge of the raised concourse, but in the end the vehicle and its load arrived safely at the bottom of the quarry.

"We could use a beast or two in front of each cart to help guide them," Custis remarked. "If that had gone over the side just now, we would have lost the cart, and maybe much of its contents as well."

Monty immediately vetoed the idea. "Too dangerous, matey, as you said yoreself earlier. Anybeast in front o' those weighty wheelbarges would get smashed if my otters lost their grip. Better a smashed cart than a smashed squirrel, otter or shrew, eh?"

"I suppose."

"O' course you do. Right then, next team up an' at 'em! Don't let that first foursome show you up! Let's see ye make as good a job of it as they did!"

After the third Gawtrybe cart was wheeled down to the quarry floor without incident, the first otter team climbed the slope to take their next turn at the wagon hafts, adequately rested up from their initial labors. A couple more trips after that left only the smaller Abbey cart, although its heavy load of Foremole's stoneworking tools would not make it any great deal easier to handle than the Northlanders' conveyances. Monty himself took his place at the pull-bars, eager to be down with his fellow Redwallers now that this arduous task was nearly at an end.

"See ya down there, matey," he said to Custis as he and his otters started their final descent. "Right ho, me buckos, heave to an' keep yore grips fast! This one's ours so let's make shore we land 'er in a safe port nice an' easy!"

Things went smoothly for the first half of the short journey. Monty was surprised by how much work it took to back a cart down such a long slope, and what a toll this battle against gravity exerted on the muscles. Still, he fancied that he and his companions had the matter well in paw, until his opposite Overholt, her grasp on the haft made slick by the rain-dampened wood, lost her grip for just a moment. Her partner on that side of the cart, Bayoon, suddenly feeling the entire weight of their share of the burden tugging against his paws alone, relaxed his own grip on the cart stave for just a heartbeat before recovering from his startlement ... but that tiny lapse was all it took for everything to go awry.

"Hey, secure that over there!" Monty snapped, feeling his side of the cart yawing toward the side precipice of the ramp.

"Got it!" Overholt called back, re-establishing a firm grasp on the haft.

But they didn't have it. Inertia and momentum had fully asserted themselves during the narrow window of opportunity afforded them, and now the cart was skewed off course to one side, with no room for correction along the limited confines of the ramp's path. The otters had regained their joint grip on the cart, but now that wagon was aimed just slightly toward the edge, and with Monty's team expending their total energy just to hold the vehicle to a manageable pace, they had nothing left to spare for realigning their trajectory.

Since the ramp passed over a series of terraced levels, no kind of sheer drop fell away on either side all the way to the quarry floor. This proved scant consolation when the otters felt and heard the sickening grind of the leading wheel crunching over the side of the elevated pathway, throwing the entire cart off-kilter as the axle scraped against the rock, and then the creaking groan of the vehicle tipping over in a way it was never meant to, followed by the crash smashing wood and spilled tools clattering all over the rockface. Realizing there would be no salvaging their wayward burden, Monty and his helpers were left no choice but to release their hold and let the cart go over the edge if they didn't want to be pulled over along with it.

"Oh, bollocks!" the otter Skipper swore, eliciting looks from the others, who weren't accustomed to hearing such language from their normally-jovial chieftain. Overholt and Bayoon, for their part, stood chagrined in the rain, so mortified by their mishandling of this assignment that they'd have gladly melted into the cracks in the rock underpaw if they could have.

"We're sorry, Skip, but we just couldn't - "

"Save yore 'pologies," Monty cut Overholt off. "What's done is done, an' there's no doin' it over. Let's get down to the others an' see what Foremole wants done about salvagin' this shambles."

Before they could take a step in that direction, they found themselves joined by Custis, who'd bounded down the slope far more rapidly than any non-squirrel could have achieved safely under these conditions. "Is everybeast all right?" he panted.

"Oh, we're just fine," Montybank bit off. "Downright peachy as a peach in high summer ... an' our pore Abbey cart is downright down fer th' count, as ye may've noticed."

"Kind of hard not to." Custis allowed himself a slight smirk. "Although I do appreciate you waiting to smash a cart until after ours were all safely down."

Now it was Monty's turn to glare at the taunting squirrel. In an uncharacteristically foul temper, he stamped down the ramp, waving for the others to follow. "C'mon, mates. Let's go see how we can get this straightened out an' made shipshape again, if may be."


	2. Chapter 31

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

Borrowing two of the smaller work lanterns, a group of beasts carefully climbed up the terraced sides of the quarry to inspect the wreckage of the Abbey cart.

Lieutenant Custis was quick with his appraisal. "We Gawtrybe know a thing or three about carpentry and woodworking, but I'd say it would take more work than it's worth to ever make this cart travel-worthy again."

"Burr hurr, uz'll just 'ave to carry all ee cargo doawn to ee quorry a liddle bit at ee toime," Foremole assessed with a resigned sigh. "An' in ee wet, too. Hurzz, doan't et goo figgur?"

"No worry there, my velvety friend," Log-a-Log assured the diggerbeast. "Ye'll have plenny o' paws t' help with that task. Why don't you 'n' yer moles bed down fer th' night, an' leave this to us Guosim?"

"An' us otters too," Monty quickly put in. "Since t'was our fumble-fistedness that led to such a mess."

"But, they'm be moi tools 'n' surploiys," Foremole protested meekly. "'Tis only roight uz molers 'elp ... "

"You molers're gonna have a whole season o' hard labor ahead o' ye here," Log-a-Log countered. "Take my advice, an' catch a breather now that you've got a chance, 'cuz come t'morrer, yer work'll start in earnest!"

Swayed by this line of persuasion, Foremole retreated to the quarry floor, helped along the more treacherous spots by a pair of otters who accompanied him for safety's sake. They returned in short order, bringing with them the rest of the otters and a great many more of the Guosim.

Surveying the scene and taking stock of the beastpower he had to work with, Monty promptly settled upon an arrangement of their labor resources. "Right, lissen up, mateys! Makes no sense us tryin' t' wrestle all this flotsam 'n' jetsam down these rough, slick steps, so I want half of ye up on that ramp, an' th' rest of us'll pass ev'rything up to you fer carryin' down into th' quarry. Less chance o' somebeast gettin' hurt that way, an' we'll like as not finish sooner that way too."

"Just what I was about t' suggest m'self," Log-a-Log told Monty. "Guess we waterbeasts share common good sense!"

As the shrews and otters deployed themselves according to these orders, Custis said, "Well, it looks as if you've got the matter well in paw here without me, so I'll head down to see to my Gawtrybe. Log-a-Log, you mentioned something earlier about us being able to keep our carts dry?"

"Hold just a tic there, 'tenant." Monty turned to the shrew chieftain. "Yore lads seem to've scoped out this place pretty well. Don't s'pose Urthblood left b'hind any of his quarryin' carts along with those lamps an' oil?"

"Sorry, Skip, t'was no sign of any such thing. He musta moved 'em along upriver t' help with the buildin' of Foxguard there."

"That makes sense," Custis agreed. "And once that fortress was finished, those carts could have been dismantled, and their wood used for furnishings, or fuel. Lord Urthblood doesn't care to be wasteful in such matters."

"Be that as it may, we need a cart now." Monty stared expectantly at Custis.

"What, you want one of ours? We're using them, in case you hadn't noticed ... "

"Actually, yore not," Montybank corrected. "At least, not fully. You ferget, I was there when my otters an' Alex's Forest Patrol went through 'em, so I got a good look at what you were haulin' - an' a lot of it was tents 'n' beddings fer yer shrew comrades. Well, Cap'n Choock an' his squad's gone off on their own way, takin' all their belongin's with 'em. That leaves a lot more room in these wagons than there was. Yore gonna be our neighbors in Mossflower from now on, I'm given t' understand ... an' the neighborly thing t' do would be t' unload one o' yore carts an' redistribute what's in it to all th' rest. T'wouldn't be too hard fer you t' manage, with all th' squirrels you got here t' help, it wouldn't unduly overburden yore remainin' carts, an' it shore would be a big boon to us Redwallers."

"He's right," Log-a-Log asserted before Custis could protest further. "We Guosim may be aces at makin' rafts an' logboats, but a cart's a bit beyond us. Lord Urthblood's allers sayin' he wants t' be our friend an' ally. Well, now's a perfect oppertunity fer you lot t' put yer acorns where his mouth is. An' a true ally wouldn't leave us in a lurch like this."

"It wasn't our carelessness that cost you your cart," Custis tartly reminded them.

"Not sayin' it was, friend. But accidents happen, an' ye're in a position t' help us out, an' mightily, too. Question is, will you?"

Custis nearly squirmed under their joint gaze, unflinching and expectant. "I'm sure we can figure something out," he said at last, declining to commit one way or the other. "But for now I'd like to be in out of this rain. We can make a firm decision come morning, after we've all had a chance to sleep on it."

"That'll do fer now, I guess." Log-a-Log took Custis by the arm to lead him down the terraced sides of the quarry. "Come along, then, an' I'll show you bushtails a nice dry cove t' park yerselves in 'til this dampness blows over!"

00000000000

In all the long march from Krayne's valley so far, Latura didn't seem to be letting anything bother her. That didn't even change when, on the third evening of their trek, the sky clouded over and a chill drizzle began to fall.

"Oh, tailrot!" Grota spat as he marched at his General's side at the head of their column, echoing other groans and grumbles and mutterings of discontent arising from their procession. "An' just when I was hopin' we'd make it t' Redwall while th' weather held out."

"Prob'ly naught more'n a spring shower," Harth dismissed, displaying no undue concern. "Even if it's not, that's why we brought along cloaks and coverin's. Hardly a crisis."

"Cloaks 'n' shrouds'll hardly be enuff t' protect us if this turns into a downpour, sir. An' we ain't even found a place t' shelter fer th' night."

Harth gave his lieutenant a snide sideways glance. "Gotten spoiled by all that soft, pampered tent livin' back at Krayne's encampment, have we?"

"Ain't me an' our fightin' lads I'm worried 'bout - I know we c'n put up with a liddle damp. It's th' ratmums 'n' babes 'n' oldsters I'm thinkin' of ... "

"Then we'll stop where we are an' light fire t' keep us warm," Harth growled, "an' hope it don't come down too hard."

Where they were was still somewhere in the depths of Mossflower Woods, north and east of the valley they'd left behind them three mornings past as they followed Latura's vague and oblique instructions as to the best way to reach the Abbey. During their travels, made slower by the presence of non-soldier rats of all ages, the sentinel of the red tower marking the fox fortress gradually receded to the south, but never so far that it still didn't dominate the forest vista at every glimpse through each break in the trees. They'd now passed due north of the tower this day, and Latura had told them they must turn to the southeast, just enough to safely skirt the fox stronghold without being taken too far out of their way.

For Latura and her companions, the biggest difference between this march and the impoverished first leg of their journey from their seaside village was the plentitude of provisions. Harth had had the rats under his command pack well in preparation for many days of travel, and satisfying if basic meals were enjoyed each morning, midday and evening. And now with the change in the weather, another of the rat general's contingencies was to come into play.

"Lightin' fires is all well 'n' good, Gen'ral sir, if we don't have buckets pourin' down on our heads," Grota told Harth. "Elsewise they'll get snuffed out in a sputterin', sizzlin' hiss, leavin' us all sodden an' miserable."

"I knew I kept you around fer a reason, Grote, an' I can see now it's 'cos of yer way with words." Harth heaved a sigh, wiping the accumulation of moisture from his whiskers with one paw. "Light's almost failed now. If we'd known this rain was comin', we coulda stopped earlier an' searched about fer shelter, but it's kinda late fer that now. Mebbe we can still find sumpthin' up ahead. Send some scouts forward a ways, see if they can locate any more sheltered spot than this. If not, we'll just bed down here fer the night an' make of it what we can."

"Sky's gettin' thick," Latura murmured from behind them. "Thicker 'n' thicker, further we go."

Harth turned to her. "Whaddya mean? Is hard rain a-comin'?"

The simple ratmaid stared at him blankly. "What rain?"

Harth sneered, and batted at Latura's ear, scattering a spray of droplets from the clinging drizzle that had collected on it. Many rats amongst their company had already pulled up cowls and hoods to ward off the misty precipitation, but Latura had yet to do so, seemingly oblivious to it. "That rain, ya dolt!"

She shrank back from the rat general, clutching at her stinging ear. "Da! Mean rat's painin' me agin!"

Patreese sighed as he drew his daughter's cowl up over her head, just as he might do with a youngbeast who lacked the sense to do so for itself. "Aye, Lattie, but it's best we all just do what the mean rat tells us, lest we get pained a whole lot more. Now, what'd you mean 'bout th' skies gettin' thick? Was it about this rain, or sumpthin' else?"

"It's thick'nin'," she said in a small voice from beneath her overlarge hood, sounding as pathetic as she looked. "Things ain't gettin' thru. It's th' two warriors ... they're fightin' over the air ... "

This instantly re-engaged Harth's interest. "Warriors fightin', y' say? Where's that? Is there some battle goin' on up ahead, somethin' we might be walkin' inta? Anything I gotta know about, so's we can steer clear of it, or turn it to our advantage?"

Latura shook her head. "Ain't like that. It's up in the air, not down here."

"Up in the air?" Harth repeated, puzzled. "You mean, like birds, or sumpthin' ... ?"

She shook her head again. "Not birds, or even beasts. Not really. Just th' two warriors."

Harth grew impatient. "Anything we gotta worry 'bout, 'tween here an' Redwall?"

"Um ... no."

"Then that's all I need t' know. Grota, send those scouts ahead t' see what they can find. We'll hold here until they get back."

"Aye, sir!"

While the scouts fanned out through the woods ahead, Latura and her fellow village rats hunkered down at the base of a large maple whose new spring foliage seemed to grant better protection from the rain than any of the more modest oaks, ashes and elms in their immediate vicinity. The wet overcast above the deep twilight gloom made Mossflower appear impenetrable and forbidding, even though they knew these were the same woodlands they'd navigated for the past three days without incident. But nightfall in the heart of the forest could transform the whole world, and a beast's thoughts along with it - especially the thoughts of creatures as traditionally superstitious as rats and hordebeasts.

"So, how're we doin', Lattie?" Castor asked, squatting at his sister's side. "Are we gonna make it? To Redwall, I mean?"

Latura neither nodded nor shook her head. "Warrior's helpin' us. Made th' cart tip over. Givin' us more time."

Strack, sitting alongside Castor, gave a snort. "Dunno what that's s'posed t' mean, but if we got any kinda warrior on our side, I'll not turn 'im away, nor any aid 'ee cares t' give us. In fact, I'll gladly shake 'is paw once we're safely at the Abbey."

Latura stared at the big rat. "Now ye're just bein' silly."

Mathurin threw one arm around Turma's shoulders while he rested the other upon his wife's swollen belly. "Silly or not, anything that helps us reach Redwall's fine by us."

"We must be almost there," Castor speculated. "Three days out from that valley, an' that tower now passin' us to th' south. Can't be too much longer now."

"Harth says there's still a river 'twixt us an' Redwall," Patreese reminded them. "A river we gotta get across somehow."

Latura nodded at this, rousing herself from her self-induced reverie. "Ayup, gotta get to th' river, an' th' rocks. Find th' Greenpup, he'll get us across."

"Along with those 'halfmice' you been nattering about, no doubt," Turma added, although in truth her attitude toward the ratmaid had softened considerably ever since their impossible, near-miraculous deliverance from the nightmare of Krayne's valley. Even the oft-caustic ratwife had to admit that, against all odds - or perhaps because of them - they'd done well by Latura.

"Halfmice build th' boats," Latura murmured to nobeast in particular. "Greenpup gets us cross't ... "

Palter's reedy voice sounded from beyond Mathurin and Turma, the scrawny rat seated as far from the center of their gathering as it was possible to be without falling outside the maple's overhanging shelter altogether. "I ne'er had any doubt in ya, Lattie, no I didn't. Ye're gonna guide us straight 'n' true, right to th' Abbey gates themselves. Keep on followin' Lattie, an' we can't go astray."

"Yah, 'cept you nearly got yer head separated from yer shoulders more'n once back at that fox's camp," Strack mockingly reminded Palter. "That almost didn't work out too well fer you, did it?"

"I'm still here, ain't I? An' I still got my head, when all chance an' reason said I wasn't gettin' outta there alive."

To this, the others had nothing to say. They all knew how true it was. Latura had delivered them to the brink of their doom ... and then allowed them to walk right back out of it, largely unscathed. In defiance of all odds and logic and common sense, they were still bound for Redwall, just as they had been ever since leaving their seaside village in late winter - except that now a hundred and a half more rats had joined their pilgrimage toward sanctuary. What more proof could anybeast want as to the certainty of their purpose, and the sureness of Latura's vision?

The scouts returned a short time later, with nothing encouraging to report. Harth heard them out, then turned to Grota. "Guess we're stopping here fer th' night then. Alright, get to lightin' some campfires so the oldsters an' young ones can get a little warmth t' ward off th' damp chill, an' the rest of us'll just hafta tough out the rain as best we can."

"Are y' sure that's wise, Gen'ral sir?" Ever since parting ways with the horde, they'd refrained from lighting any fires, either for cooking or for their overnight encampments. "It'd make us easy t' spot, 'specially at night in the open forest, an' might attrack th' wrong kind of attention."

"I wouldn't worry. We've put a good distance 'tween ourselves an' the valley, an' Bryn hasn't shown any sign of giving chase fer three days now. If that ferret was gonna trouble us, he'da done so 'fore now. An' we know from the scouts Krayne sent out to spy on that fox fortress there's nobeast else in this part of Mossflower that could trouble a party as large as ours. Lighting fires oughta be safe now." Harth flashed a fangy grin. "'Sides, Bryn never did take a shine to bein' out in th' rain. This weather'd prob'ly chase him right back to his valley, head bowed an' tail 'tween his legs if he ever had the gumption to leave it in the first place! But he's like as not got his paws full with all he can manage just tryin' t' hold that horde together, keepin' ev'rybeast in line an' convincin' 'em to accept him as their new leader, an' keepin' anybeast else from defectin' ... not to mention having to cope with Joska an' her treacherous vixens. I'm bettin' we're prob'ly the last thing on Bryn's mind right now."

"An' yet you been keepin' up our rearguard, an' scoutin' out to th' sides an' up ahead while we've marched," Grota pointed out.

"Wasn't taking any chances, not while we were still so close to the valley. But that was then, an' this is now."

"I dunno, sir. If Bryn's havin' any trouble rallyin' the remainin' hordebeasts to 'im, comin' after us might be a good way of unitin' them unner his new rule. Krayne was brutal on traitors an' runaways, an' Bryn might wanna start off his rule th' same way. You c'n be sure most of his fighters still remember Krayne's ways all too well."

"Then we'll light fires _and_ post guards out beyond the campsite as well, just to be safe - an' you can take first watch, Grota."

The lieutenant rat's expression, none too cheery to begin with, soured even further. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."

Harth threw a glance toward Latura, whose conversation with her fellow seaside village rats they'd partly overheard. "'Side, we've got nuthin' to worry about. We got a warrior watchin' out fer us, remember?"

00000000000

"Burr, yurr 'ole be fresh dug, hurr ... "

"That's what we figgered too," Log-a-Log agreed with Foremole as he guided the Redwall diggerbeasts through the arched opening in the side of the quarry wall. "Must be Urthblood carved it out for his Foxguard operations here. 'Tween this an' that giant ramp, he sure did put a lot o' work inta developin' this site fer his uses. Lucky fer us, he left us with a cozy cavern big 'nuff t' stash all these carts, with room t' spare fer us as well!"

All of the Gawtrybe carts had been hauled within the rock shelter by this time, and some of the work lamps transferred in as well to give everybeast light by which to see. Perhaps using his otherwordly senses, or perhaps just following the stoneworking lore and expertise of his own Foremoles, Urthblood had breached the rockface at a spot where a yawning natural hollow lay hidden not too far behind, requiring just a short connecting tunnel to open the vaulted chamber to the outside world. This expansive indoor area had clearly given the Badger Lord's teams the protected spaces they needed for laboring right through the depths of winter.

"Hurr, et be quoite noice, if'n oi do say so moiself," Foremole assessed, gazing all about him and taking in the soaring subterranean recess. "Uz shudd 'ave no trubble worken doawn 'ere just foine, boi okey!"

"My shrews found some side tunnels an' chambers leadin' off this main cavern too," Log-a-Log told them. "One or two even look like they had notches fer door hinges carved into their entries, although the doors 'n' hinges themselves're nowhere to be found."

"Probably dorms and offices," Winokur surmised. "We know Lord Urthblood had his mole crews working nonstop, day and night, to get Foxguard built on schedule, which meant there always would have been one shift laboring while others were trying to sleep or relax. They would have needed heavy doors to help block out the worst of the quarrying noise."

"And timber and metal's too valuable to be left behind," Lieutenant Custis added, "so those doors would have been taken down and brought along to Foxguard, along with their hinges. They would be needed at Foxguard, one way or another."

"Pity," Winokur lamented. "We could have used them ourselves."

"Nay, Brudder Wink," said Foremole. "Uz won't be worken day an' noight loik ee badger's molers, no zurr. Uz'll get Freetown built en gudd toime, but uz'll still sleep throo ee noights. No wurries aboawt yurr booty sleep - ev'rybeast yurrabowts shudd 'ave pleasant, soilent dreams, hurr hurr!"

"Well, that's a relief! Still, it seems odd, though - Urthblood taking all his carts, and even the doors right off their rock frames, but leaving behind so many lamps and lanterns. You'd think they'd be just as valuable."

Custis shrugged. "Foxguard's construction was almost entirely above ground, out in the open, unlike here, where most of the work went on deep underground, or else there were night shifts working out in the main pit. Lamps wouldn't have been needed at the construction site nearly to the extent they were here."

"It still doesn't make sense," Winokur persisted, shaking his head. "I've been to Foxguard, and it's got windowless cellars, plus it gets pretty dark and gloomy in some parts of the tower, where there aren't any windows. But every large habitat has a use for lamps - seasons knows, Redwall certainly has its share, along with candles and torches!"

"Then maybe candles and torches were the method of lighting Andrus preferred for Foxguard. Maybe they had so much stone to move, there was no room to take all their lanterns with them. I'll make a point of asking Tolar about it when I see him."

"Hmm ... " Standing with the others by the Gawtrybe carts, Winokur tried to gaze across to the far wall and found his eyes playing tricks on him in the scant illumination cast by the lamps; he wasn't entirely sure just where the cavern ended, or what its dimension were. "If you ask me, this place looks spacious enough that you could have one shift sleeping soundly right in the open on one side while a crew works on the other!"

"I 'spect Lord Urthblood left it a lot bigger than he found it," said Log-a-Log. "There're telltale signs o' recent excavations all 'round th' place, as I'm sure Foremole will be able t' attest once he gets a good look at it. I'm thinkin' a lot of th' stone that was mined fer Foxguard came right from this very spot. But if you think this cavern's big, wait'll y' see th' one up ahead along one o' these tunnels! It's so vast, you could prob'ly fit all of Redwall inside it - mebbe even the Abbey's grounds an' walls too - an' there's a big luminous unnerground lake right smack in th' middle that glows so you don't even need a single lamp t' see yer way 'round!"

Winokur's eyes widened at this description. "I know that place! Our hero Matthias passed through it during his search for the lost sword of Martin, when Redwall was under siege from Cluny! One of the side branches from it must be the very same tunnel where he confronted the great adder Asmodeus, and slew the giant serpent to win back the sword! It's all in the chronicles of those times that were laid down by John Churchmouse, Redwall's Recorder at the time."

"Yeah, I seem to 'member a certain youth stage show starrin' my son, depictin' those events." Log-a-Log glanced around the shadowed immensity enclosing them. "Somehow it didn't look quite like this, tho'."

"I must see it! No Recorder or historian from the Abbey, nor likely any Redwaller at all, has ever stood in that spot from that day to this! That alone would have made this entire journey worthwhile for me!"

"P'raps in th' morn, Wink. Excited as I c'n see you are, even you'll agree it's been a long day, an' we'll all need a good sup an' an even better night's sleep t' freshen up fer any more explorin' or adventures. An' here comes yer Skipper with th' rest o' his otters 'n' my Guosim. Let's go see if we c'n lend 'em a paw ... "

Montybank led the retrieval crew into the cavern, each otter and shrew bearing some tool or article of supplies or provisions from the overturned Redwall cart. They neatly piled and arrayed the recovered items on the floor near the Gawtrybe wagons, laying it all out for easy access and inventory.

"Think we got it all," Monty told Foremole, Log-a-Log and Winokur. "One cask o' fruit cordial burst, an' it made some o' the other supplies sticky, but other than that, doesn't look like we lost anything other than th' cart itself. Might not wanna rest in any o' that wet bedding until after we've had a chance t' launder it, elsewise yore liable t' wake smellin' like sweet pear 'n' apricot!"

"Not t' mention wakin' with tacky fur," Log-a-Log put in. "Good thing we ain't too far from th' river - that'll make any washin' easier."

"Not just washin'," Monty added. "The drink we brought along with us is really only enuff t' get things started. Once we get this quarry operation up 'n' runnin' at full speed, we'll be makin' almost daily runs to th' Moss fer all th' drinkin' water we'll need. That's another reason losin' our cart was such a blow; haulin' all that heavy water from there t' here by paw'll be quite th' chore." He turned to Custis. "But I'm shore our new squirrel friends 'n' neighbors're gonna help us out on that score, ain'tcher?"

"I'm still considering it," the Gawtrube lieutenant answered noncommittally.

"Well, ye'll consider it mighty hard if y' don't want us local woodlanders thinkin' poorly of ye," Log-a-Log warned. "Never know when you'll find yerselves knockin' on Redwall's gates in need of help fer yerselves."

"Mm hmm."

Monty glanced around the cavern, as impressed by its dimensions as everybeast else. "Why, Log, you shore have gone an' found us a right proper liddle cave fer ourselves, haven't ye?"

"Hope y' like it," the shrew responsed, "'cos it's lookin' t' be our home fer th' next half season or more."

Monty's face fell slightly. "Well, when y' put it that way ... But, what it lacks in coziness, I reckon it makes up for in roominess. Won't be runnin' outta elbow room down here, even with as many of us as there'll be!"

"That's true 'nuff, Skip. An' I just got finished tellin' Wink 'ere that if you think this cave's huge, there's one up a ways that positively dwarfs it - an' it's got a lake right in th' middle of it that puts out light all its own, an' is like t' leave ya glowin' if you take a paddle in it!"

"Not shore how I feel 'bout glowin'," Monty hazarded. "I do like some sheen t' my fur, but mebbe not _that_ much! An' as fer swimmin' in underground lakes, I've heard there's monsters that live in some of 'em that could swallow this otter whole! Think I'll be keepin' my rudder dry durin' this duty, except mebbe fer day trips to th' Moss, where all I'll hafta worry 'bout is the occasional pike!"


	3. Chapter 32

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

Morning broke with heavy mists and banks of dense fog hanging over Mossflower, the kind of weather that transformed welcoming woods into a ghostly, mystery-shrouded netherworld. The Redwallers and Guosim and Gawtrybe ventured out from their sheltering cave after a shortened night's rest to find the vast bowl of the quarry pit socked in with a ground-hugging blanket of white which made it nearly impossible to see a paw held up before one's snout, much less anybeast standing more than a pace or two away.

"Can't very well travel in this," Custis conceded with obvious impatient resignation. "It'd be hazardous just trying to draw our carts up that ramp - we'd barely be able to see what we were doing."

"I'm sure it'll burn off soon," Log-a-Log reassured him as they stood side-by-side in the tunnel mouth, where only a few brave wisps of the all-encompassing fog had thus far succeeded in invading. "Spring days in Mossflower ain't usually this gloomy from dawn t' dusk, an' it feels like th' worst of the rain's behind us. Once th' sun gets well over th' horizon, I'm bettin' this'll all disappear in a hurry. Until then, looks like you'll just hafta abide with us reg'lar folks a bit longer ... an' in th' meantime, I can think of a task that'll occupy yer idle paws ... "

At almost that exact same moment, across the River Moss to the south and west, Redwall's two Abbots stood regarding their white-veiled grounds from the Infirmary window, seeing not the expected lawns and trees and outer wall that one usually beheld from this vantage, but only the impenetrable layer of low fog that seemed to lay within the Abbey's confines like a vaporous stew brimming over a giant cookpot.

"Will you look at that," Geoff remarked. "I can't remember when I last saw fog this thick!"

"Nor can I," Arlyn agreed, "although it has happened a few times in my memory - mostly when I was a much younger mouse. Very rare indeed, to see it so heavy. Real pea soup! I'm glad those showers last evening convinced me to sleep up here for the night; I don't think I could have found my way from my gatehouse cottage to Great Hall for breakfast!"

"I do hope our party travelling with the Gawtrybe were able to make it to the Moss yesterday without any undue delays. I'd hate to think of them stuck somewhere in the wilds of Mossflower, trapped where they are by this fog!"

"I'm sure they made it just fine. In fact, some of those adventurous souls might see this as a grand lark and novel experience to be enjoyed, being out in fog like this. But I trust them to look after themselves well. Winokur has a better head on his shoulders than most creatures twice his age, Foremole is a font of good common mole sense, and Monty and Log-a-Log know their way around this neck of Mossflower much better than the average Abbeybeast. Not to mention that Lieutenant Custis must know a thing or two about getting along in the wilderness, having journeyed all the way down from the Northlands to Salamandastron, and thence from there to here. However, if you're still concerned, we can always send out some Sparra later, after this fog lifts, to make sure nothing's amiss."

"Yes, that's a very good idea. Hey! I wonder how low this fog lies? It could be that they'd be able to fly above it altogether, and then they wouldn't have to wait for it to lift!"

Arlyn allowed himself a bemused smile. "I don't think that would work very well."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Well, stop to think about it. Even if our sparrows could wing their way above it, the lands below would still be completely enshrouded. Our bird friends wouldn't be able to see a blessed thing, except maybe for a few of the tallest treetops protruding from the mists. It would make aerial surveillance quite impractical."

Geoff slapped his forehead in chagrin. "But of course! How silly of me! Whatever was I thinking?"

Arlyn's smile remained in place. "This is why two Abbots are better than one!"

And, also at that same moment, at some distance to the northeast of both Redwall and the quarry, General Harth's company of over a hundred-and-a-half refuge-seeking rats struggled over what to make of a spring morning that dawned to reveal a forest more thoroughly hidden and heavily-veiled than it had been in the drizzly gloom of the previous evening.

Grota stuck close to his commander's side, mainly out of fear that he'd not be able to easily locate Harth again if they became separated. "What're we gonna do now, Gen'ral sir? Can't see so much as a stone's throw in any direction, 'fore these mists swallow ev'rything up! No way t' even take a proper head count, make sure ev'ryrat's still with us!"

"And where would they have gone, Grota?" Harth growled, revealing a mood less than enamored of their situation.

"Um, well, we _coulda_ been attacked in th' night, sir, have some slain rats lyin' out on our fringes, an' we'd not even know it! Or some o' th' babes or oldsters coulda wandered off in th' night - you know how babes 'n' oldsters are. Truth is, we can't even know th' state of our own camp right now! It's like th' fates're conspirin' 'gainst us ever reachin' Redwall!"

"Ye're soundin' like an old ratwife, Grota. It's just an unusually heavy fog, not th' paw o' fate. An' nobeast's gone an' wandered off in th' night - we were all too miserable fer that, especially our babes 'n' oldsters, who stuck as close to our fires as they could. Gettin' mildewed fur 'n' clothes is prob'ly the biggest worry we face now, since we gotta sit tight 'til this mist thins out 'nuff fer us t' see where we're walkin' without smashin' into trees!" Harth shook out his travel cloak before him in a vain attempt to rid it of some of its dampness, accumulated by a night of drizzle and a morning of penetrating moisture. "One thing's fer sure: No enemy'd be able to engage us in this. We'd all be blundering inta each other, an' archers would be worse'n useless. Still, we'd best be alert an' on our toes fer when this disperses, just in case somebeasts're lyin' in wait fer us, waitin' fer a clear shot at us."

Grota glanced toward where Latura's group lay, or at least where he thought they lay; the obscuring white haze hid them from sight. "Y reckern Lattie'd be able t' see her way through this, an' guide us on our way?"

"Dunno if it works that way, Grote. I think she sees more in th' way of possibilities an' things happening far away - or within a beast, in Krayne's case - rather than what's in front of ev'rybeast t' see fer themselves." Harth narrowed his irate gaze at the fog surrounding them. "Or not see, as the truth may be. Just keep those campfires blazin' until this mist burns off, so that we can at least make out more than just th' rat standin' right next to us. Mebbe it'll help dry us out a bit before we get underway again ... long as norat goes blunderin' inta them an' singes its fur!"

Meanwhile, as these fairly mundane scenes played out at the quarry, at Redwall, and at the rats' fogbound camp, another group of beast in the same vicinity enjoyed an entirely different perspective of the atypically low and heavy mists blanketing central Mossflower ...

00000000000

"It's ... it's ... it's like I'm at the top of the sky, looking down into the clouds from above!"

Mona beamed as widely as her astounded lapine companion, her smile genuine and warm. "Yes, isn't it magnificent? There's nowhere else in Mossflower, and perhaps not anywhere in all the lands, where you can partake of a view like this."

The morning sun, hanging slightly above the eastern horizon, caught the upper third of Foxguard's tower, which rose out of the dense fog blanket like a single slender prominence arising from a becalmed sea of white. The day's new beams lit the red sandstone of the edifice with a warm and rosy hue, and glinted off the signalling mirror apparatus up on the roof of the observation platform, even as the lands below lay enshrouded and sunless.

Mona had risen before sunrise, as she often did, and when she beheld the preternatural conditions holding sway over Mossflower, she realized a unique sightseeing opportunity had presented itself. She'd implored Tolar to accompany her, but the Sword was less enthralled by this unusual weather than she, and declined, wishing instead to devote himself to his customary morning patrol of his stronghold to make sure all was in order within its walls. Spurned by her preferred partner, she went and roused the bleary-eyed Tibball from his slumbers in his guest bedchamber, bustling their rabbit visitor to the elevator and ringing the bell high above to alert the crank shift there that somebeast needed a lift to the top.

When Tibball fully comprehended what Mona intended - and what the slowly-rising wood platform under his footpaws portended - he grew panicky, betraying a leeriness about heights that would have done a mole proud. Not even the vixen's assurances about the safety of this conveyance - how it had never failed over the course of hundreds of trips, and how there were safety redundancies, as underscored by the heavy scraping of the catcher timbers being slid into place below them after every few stories - could fully calm the fidgety passenger. Mona appreciated it was not just the imagined peril of this ascent but the prospect of the dizzying altitude of their final destination that most unsettled him.

By the time they reached the domed chamber atop the tower, Tibball was so overwrought that he didn't even want to step off the elevator. Mona had all she could do to convince him to disembark, finally succeeding only by reminding the rabbit what a lethal drop lay directly beneath his quaking paws; he then hopped over onto the firm stone of the observation deck floor with utmost haste, to the amusement of the two weasel laborers on elevator and lookout duty. Even then, Tibball showed not the slightest desire to venture beyond the enclosed shelter out onto the walled balcony encircling the structure. Sighing and shrugging at such intractable timidity, Mona strode out onto the open walkway herself to see what there was to see.

She'd anticipated either of two possible vistas to greet her eye: either the fog would still be thick even this high up, and her visit to Foxguard's summit would prove an otherworldly experience unlike any she'd known during her seasons at the fortress so far, or else the top of the tower would rise beyond the mists, creating an effect every bit as phantasmagorical. (A third possibility she'd sought to banish from her thoughts was that the fog might dissipate entirely in the time it took the winching crew to bring them all the way up here, but even this would have been no great disappointment, since the spectacular views from the lookout ring were almost always worth the trip, except on the most miserable of dreary and overcast days, and Tibball was almost guaranteed to get a soul-stirring eyeful no matter what conditions prevailed upon their arrival.) But fortune smiled upon her that morning, and she was met by the indescribable panorama she'd hoped to find upon her arrival.

The weasel Monda appeared beside her. "Purty amazin' an' inspirin' sight, ain't it, ma'am?"

"Indeed. I doubt anybeast from the Northlands to Southsward has ever beheld a vista like this before, and we may never again in our lifetimes. Now if only I could persuade our timid guest in there to come out and partake in it. I'm sure the sight would thrill him."

Monda threw a glance back over his shoulder. "Still dunno why you brought that bunny in here. Thought it was hares y' wanted t' study, ma'am."

"It's ... complicated."

"If'n you say so, ma'am. We weasels're more given t' simple 'n' direct thoughts an' deeds - so whaddya say we see if we can't uncomplicate things for ye a bit." Monda turned and disappeared into the enclosed structure, emerging moments later with his partner Weel. Between them the two weasels bore the frantic and squirming form of Tibball, his flailing footpaws kicking at empty air as his coercive escorts held him up off the stone floor.

"Help! Murder! Mercy on me, help, help!"

"Aw, shut yer hole an' hush up, ya noisy nuisance! Nobeast's gonna harm ya! Now, th' good mistress 'ere had us winch you all th' way up 'ere t' show you sumpthin' special, so don't go bein' an ungrateful lout, an' do as she tells ya!"

Tibball ceased his struggles as the weasels bore him right up to the balcony wall, held high enough that he could clearly see over it. Once the glory and splendor of what he was seeing fully registered, the rabbit went quite still, practically limp in his captors' grasp, his wide eyes now filled with amazement instead of terror.

"Why, it's ... it's magnificent," he said in the tiniest of voices.

"I thought you'd like it," Mona said with a slight smirk, then looked to Weel and Monda. "Although I daresay I suspect he'd enjoy it more if he were allowed to stand on his own."

Taking the sardonic hint, the two laborbeasts lowered Tibball to the deck and then moved away to another part of the wall where they could savor the view themselves without having to be around such foolishness.

Without hesitating, Tibball raised himself up on his pawtips to get a better view over the stone railing; being roughly the same height as his vixen host, this actually left him with a less impeded outlook over the shrouded panorama than Mona had. "I never imagined it would be like this! It's like something from a dream - it hardly seems real at all. I thought this would be terrifying, but I'm hardly scared at all!"

"You'd be surprised how many visitors have that same reaction their first time up here. The only fear you should have is a healthy respect and awareness for how high up you are, and the good sense not to do anything stupid. Otherwise, it's perfectly safe. If it weren't, I wouldn't enjoy coming up here myself."

"The sun is so bright, the sky so blue, the breezes so crisp and fresh! But, are those really all the lands spread out below us, completely hidden by these white mists?"

"Naturally. I've never seen such conditions like this in all my time at Foxguard, and I suspected this observation deck might afford such a view. I'm not from Mossflower, so I've no idea how rare or common such weather might be ... "

"Oh, it's not common at all!" Tibball readily supplied. "It must be so thick down there in the woods that you'd barely be able to see where you were walking! And running would be right out of the question! Uh ... because we rabbits run a lot, you see. But no, I honestly can't remember any fog so heavy in all my seasons! Of course, never having seen it from this perspective, I really couldn't say for certain. I'm just glad it's hiding all the lands, or else I really would be terrified!"

"Actually, I strongly suspect you wouldn't. It's not the obscuring fog that's making this view easy for you to tolerate, but rather the actual design of this tower - as you'll see for yourself once this mist breaks up."

A hint of Tibball's nervousness returned. "What do you mean, ma'am?"

"It's an old theory, which Foxguard seems to amply bear out. Tolar has explained it to me several times. If the eye cannot see a direct link from a tall height such as this to the ground, the mind stops seeing it as a peril, and accepts it with calm detachment. It becomes like you're floating, with no deadly drop close to paw. The design of this balcony, jutting out on all sides, cuts off the tower below us from view, and thus our direct line of sight connecting us to the ground. It may seem odd, or counter-intuitive, but it really does work that way. If it didn't, we might have a very hard time finding any weasels or foxes willing to stand lookout duty up here!'

"Hmm. Yes ... yes, I imagine you would."

"And don't forget, this fortress was built largely by moles, who when it comes to heights are about as timid as any creature can be, so you can be sure that if they felt it was safe enough for them, it should certainly be safe for a vixen and a rabbit!"

For a long time the two of them stood silently taking in the spectacular setting, the warm spring sun on their faces as the high breezes played through their fur and whiskers. Far below, the freakish mists may have thinned out a bit - or they may not have; it was impossible to be sure.

Tibball uncorked a monstrous yawn. "Whaaahoooum! Um, sorry, ma'am, and do pardon me. It's not the company, and certainly not the view, but the hour. I'm generally not up before sunrise, you see... "

"Ah, yes. The life of a bachelor beast." Mona smiled at him. "I normally would have let you sleep much later, but I felt this was an opportunity not to be missed. I also suspect your bouts of nervous adrenaline may have drained you a bit, and now this peaceful scene is having its effect on you. Why don't you go lie down on one of the cots inside, and nap for awhile? I can wake you up after the fog lifts."

"If you're sure you wouldn't mind. I don't want to seem ungrateful ... "

Mona could clearly see that this suggestion held greater appeal for Tibball than the rabbit was willing to admit. "Not at all. This view is just as enjoyable by myself as with somebeast else. It's fine."

"Well, then ... " He turned and started inside, obviously reluctant to tear himself away from his viewing station but equally drawn to the idea of some more shuteye for his weary body.

"So, Tibball, are you finding the excitement you hoped to encounter within Foxguard?"

He paused at the threshold between sunlight and shadows. "Ask me again when I'm back out here after the fog lifts, ma'am, and I can see just how high up I am!"

00000000000

Morning crawled on toward midday, the fog lifting so slowly that the naked eye could hardly tell whether it was lifting at all. Mona, her rumbling stomach at last overriding her fascination with this meteorological display, tore herself away from the balcony to share a modest late breakfast with Weel and Monda from the tower larder.

And through it all dozed Tibball, peacefully slumbering on his cot with the occasional meek little rabbit snore.

"Y' musta really put 'im at ease, ma'am," Weel softly remarked to Mona, "for a bunny t' sleep so sound as that 'mongst foxes an' weasels."

"I had him up late last night. And by his own admission, he's not accustomed to being roused as early as he was this morning. I suspect it's more his natural needs than his surroundings that have him so dead to the world!"

Some time later, Tibball's eyes fluttered open to find Mona standing over him. The rabbit couldn't be sure whether the vixen had awakened him or if he'd stirred of his own accord. Stretching and yawning as he swung his legs over onto the floor, he smiled up at her. "So, what wondrous sights have you got in store for me now?"

"Come with me, and I'll show you."

He followed her out onto the open deck, willingly this time, and found the world transformed. The fog had almost completely burned off while he slept, its only remnants now a few vagrant wisps seen hovering above the treetops or swirling slowly upon the flowing waters of the Moss. But for the most part, the brilliant springtime sunshine that they alone had enjoyed all morning from this lofty vantage had now fully asserted itself upon the forest realm, chasing away the banks and layers of dense mist and bathing the lands in a golden radiance.

"Wow. Wow," Tibball said, eyes wider than ever. "I mean, just ... wow."

"Lord Urthblood designed Foxguard well. This tower was meant to stand as a sentinel and lookout to watch over this entire domain, and as you can see now, it does just that. There's no part of this region we can't spy out from here, if not in close detail then at least in its general aspects. You can tour all of Mossflower from here if you wish, and do it all in just a few dozen steps!"

Their current vantage faced southeast, over the seemingly boundless expanses of unbroken forest that rolled away from the fortress walls. The rising sun, still climbing to its zenith, forced them to squint with the brightness or else hold their paws to their brows to shade their eyes. Tibball realized they were looking down upon his home woods, although the exact location of his settlement would have been impossible to pinpoint under the concealing sprawl of the forest canopy. And, he was forced to admit to himself, Mona had been absolutely correct: Even with the fog lifted and the landscape now fully revealed, Tibball felt no more fear or vertigo or overwhelming, paralyzing sense of being perilously high than he had before. The lands lay spread out far below, but he found himself looking on as a detached observer, floating above it all, no more chained to the distant ground than a bird hovering on the thermals, or than if he'd been looking at a map or a picture in a book, or at some youngbeast's toy diorama.

"So you see now why we never have to worry about anybeast sneaking up on us?" Mona prompted with undisguised pride.

"Yes ... er, no ... " Tibball had started to agree with his vixen guide, but found his affirming nod turning to a contradictory sideways shake of his head in mid-response. "I mean, that's my home, down there, out there, somewhere ... but I couldn't for the life of me tell you exactly where. Everything looks so different from up here. The woods I have know all my seasons - the trails, the brooks, the glades and hillocks and caves and gullies - they're all hidden under the trees from this high up. I don't see how you could possibly know what's going on in Mossflower from atop this tower. There must be countless creatures living out their lives under those leaves and branches, and you'd see not a sign of it from here!"

Mona's lip curled in mild distaste at having this shortcoming pointed out to her, despite the fact that she'd often pondered the exact same notions herself. "It is not the affairs of ordinary goodbeasts going about their daily lives which concerns us, but large numbers of beasts on the move - hordes and such, who might disrupt the peace of these lands. The forest canopy in spring and summer might hide single beasts and families from our sight, but no sizable company could hope to escape detection."

"Hmm ... " Tibball gazed down at the thick woods, his dubious countenance clearly conveying that he harbored doubts about even this assertion.

"And anyway, this lookout tower is not our only way of monitoring all that goes on in the surrounding countryside. We have other eyes and ears besides our own - and we will soon have even more." She walked off to their right, wordlessly bidding Tibball to follow. "Let's continue with this tour, shall we?"

Sensing that he'd slighted or perturbed Mona, he proceeded with a modicum less calm confidence than before, but when he joined her at the western curve of the circular balcony wall, she seemed to have forgotten her discontent.

"Look down there, Tibball, and tell me what you see."

"Why, it's the Moss! Right below us like a great rippling silver ribbon, and winding off through the forest upstream and down, like it has no end! I knew it was wide, but I never truly grasped how _big_ it was!"

"And due west, beyond the Moss's banks a ways?"

"I see ... a large red cottage?"

"Not a cottage. Remember how high up we are, and how big that structure must be to be seen so easily from here."

Tibball's breath caught in his throat. "But, surely not ... Redwall? You can see Redwall from here?"

"Of course. We are allies, after all. It would hardly do if we couldn't keep an eye on each other, would it?"

"It looks so ... small from here, so ... close. You know, I've never set eyes on Redwall before. Somehow I pictured it as much farther away. It never occurred to me that I'd be able to see it so plainly from up here."

"I don't know why it wouldn't have occurred to you. Our mission is to watch over all Mossflower, after all. Now, if you'd like an even _better_ look at the Abbey ... " Mona reached into her skirt and withdrew a silver metal tube; to the rabbit's amazement, she pulled at both ends, and extended the device to nearly twice its prior length. Passing it to Tibball, she instructed, "Point the wide lens toward what you want to study, and look through the eyepiece at the narrow end. You may wish to close your other eye for a better result."

Uncertain what to make of any of this, Tibball did as he was told, aiming the tube toward Redwall far below and across the river - and nearly fell back on his bobtail at what he beheld through the eyepiece, his reaction to this first experience with a telescope closely mirroring that of Alexander's seven seasons earlier during Urthblood's first visit to the Abbey. Screwing his eyes up and peering through the instrument anew, he was left nearly speechless with awe.

"This ... this ... this is the most amazing thing of all that I've seen this morning! I can actually see each tree in their orchard, the glint of their pond, the weathervane on their roof, the stained glass windows - it's like I'm right there, looking down on Redwall as if I were a bird flying just a short ways above the Abbey! I can even see some of the Redwallers themselves going about the place, across the lawns and up on the walltop! This is incredible!"

"Now you see that we can indeed spy out more from up here than meets the unaided eye. Not much escapes our notice, as you can imagine."

"No, but it still can't see through walls, or trees, can it?"

"Well, no ... "

Tibball shifted from his spot, slowly following the curved balcony to the north and scoping out the lay of the land in that direction with the aid of his new toy. "So much more to Mossflower than I ever conceived. And there, that must be the quarry where you dug up all the sandstone to build this fortress. Your work there continues, I see. Are you planning an expansion, or is your badger overlord excavating for another project?"

"I'm sorry, what do you mean?"

"Why, all those beasts down there in the quarry. Aren't they yours?"

"We have no knowledge of any such thing. Foxguard was finished last summer. As far as we know, that quarry should be empty and abandoned, just as we left it."

Tibball passed her the long glass. "Well, see for yourself."

Mona took back the telescope and studied the scene at the quarry to the northwest for many long moments. Then, lowering it slowly with a look of perplexed consternation on her face, she muttered, "That should not be. That should not be at all."

"Well, who are they?" Tibball inquired.

"I don't know - and that's the problem. There ought not to be anybeast there at all. I can't tell precisely what species they are, but they appear to be a mix of many different kinds, and an extremely large company overall. And the fact that we don't know who they are and were not expecting any such thing could spell trouble."

"Could they be from Redwall?"

Mona dismissed this suggestion almost out-of-paw. "We stay in fairly regular contact with the Abbey. They gave us no notification that they might be sending such a large contingent abroad anywhere in the lands."

"Well, do they always inform you of all their comings and goings?"

"For anything this significant, yes. But it seems too many to be Redwallers, unless they evacuated nearly their entire Abbey ... and they surely would have had one of their Sparra fly out to alert us if anything were so drastically amiss at their home ... "

"I got a pretty good look inside their walls just now," Tibball reminded Mona, "and it all seemed quite calm. Nothing looked amiss at all."

Mona regretted not taking a moment's glimpse of Redwall herself. "Did you perchance notice a large number of squirrels out on the Abbey lawns? Tenscore or so?"

"Well, I really wasn't looking for such a thing, but that sounds like something that would have caught my attention. Why, are there usually such a large number of squirrels living at Redwall?"

"Not usually - just in recent days. It's a travel party we are expecting to receive here shortly, and we know they arrived at Redwall three or four days ago."

"Well, there you go then. That must be who's at the quarry, because they didn't seem to be at Redwall anymore."

Mona raised the long glass to her eye once more, intently studying the magnified image of the quarry appearing to her. "No, I ... that still doesn't make sense. Something's not right here." Tearing herself away from the balcony wall, she compacted the telescope and replaced it into her skirt pocket as she strode into the domed enclosure. Tibball, himself reluctant to leave the breathtaking aerial panorama of the open observation deck, grudgingly followed after her.

The vixen went right to a small table where she took up a sheet of parchment and a stick of charcoal and hastily scrawled a brief message upon the sunbleached woodbark. The two weasels, curious as to what might have her acting with such decisive determination, came over to investigate.

"Monda, Weel, I'm afraid your winch-cranking duties are not done for this morning. We'll be needing your muscles some more right now."

"O' course, ma'am," Monda said congenially. "Sendin' 'er down's a lot easier on the arms than bringin' 'er up. Will it be both o' ye headin' dirtside, or just one?"

"Neither." Mona folded her message parchment into quarters and set it upon the empty elevator platform. "You'll be bringing somebeast up, not lowering us down. Now get that lift moving at once!"

While the weasel pair jumped to obey the vixen's urgent tone and Tibball looked on in befuddlement, Mona went to the pullrope connected to the bell at the base of the shaft and began sounding the toll which would summon her Sword to the summit of Foxguard.


	4. Chapter 33

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

"So, what color do you s'pose Lekkas wants Freetown t' be, Wink?"

Winokur stood at Monty's side in the midst of the quarry pit, scratching at his ear in uncertainty. Now that the fog had completely lifted and burned away, the full light of the sunny spring day had revealed an aspect of this rock mine not visible by the lamplight of their arrival, and certainly not through that morning's heavy mists, which presented them with something of a quandary.

"I don't know, Skip. In all my readings about this quarry and the construction of Redwall and Matthias's later adventures here, I never envisioned this. I always just assumed it would be ... well, all red."

Far from a single hue, the quarry walls and floor displayed a veritable riot of colors and shades through its banded striations and loose boulders and solitary outcroppings. Tints of yellow, fawn, umber, brown and gold showed in abundance, along with pinks and reds which made it hard to determine just which one had been used for Redwall, or even Foxguard, whose tower looked down on them from a short way to the south. The vastness of the quarry meant there was enough rock here of any single color to build an entire town all in the same shade, but the choices were wide and varied.

"Well, I don't reckon he'd fancy yellow," Monty opined. "It'd clash with our grand Abbey an' create a right eyesore - unless'n mebbe t'were some hue o' gold. That I could see workin'. Brown 'n' tan's too dull an' ordinary ... "

"I'm sure both Geoff and Lekkas had red sandstone in mind, to match the Abbey. If I didn't know there were other colors of rock to be found here, I'm sure they didn't either. Although imagine if Foremole started shipping huge loads of yellow blocks back to Redwall without any notice or consultation!"

That got a chuckle and a grin out of Monty. "Not shore whether I'd wanna be there t' see their reaction or not!"

Winokur looked around, turning more serious. "I just hope Lord Urthblood left us enough red stone for our needs. He used so much for Foxguard. It wouldn't be a concern if all the rock here were of the same hue, but now, after seeing this ... "

The otter Skipper pounded Wink on the back. "Not t' fret yore whiskers, lad! I'm sure Foremole'll round up all we need, even if he's got to dig down twenty leagues t' get at it! Leave the quarryin' to those moles, they're the experts! Now, it looks like Custis is almost finished makin' ready t' leave, so let's go see that bushtailed crew off, shall we?"

The two Redwallers ambled over to where the Gawtrybe carts had been positioned in a line after being drawn out of the quarry tunnel. The caravan was one wagon short of what it had been the night before, each of the remaining carts piled a little higher and packed a little tighter than when they'd left Redwall. Monty stopped before the squirrel lieutenant and acknowledged the Northlanders' generosity with an appreciative nod. "Thanks again fer agreein' t' leave us one o' yore carts, 'tenant. It'll really salvage this expedition for us."

"Well, as was pointed out to me - repeatedly - leaving you in the lurch like that wouldn't exactly have been the neighborly thing to do, or the best way to build bridges between Redwall and Gawdrey." Custis shot a not entirely charitable glance Log-a-Log's way; the shrew chieftain returned it with an unabashed and assured grin. " Anyway," Custis went on, "it gave us something to do inside while waiting for the fog to clear up. I just hope whatever spot Lord Urthblood eventually chooses for our fortress isn't _too_ far from Foxguard. I'd hate to have to haul these heavy carts to the end of Mossflower!"

"Well, ain't some o' your cargo stayin' at Foxguard?" Monty questioned.

"Yes, that's true. All the raw metals, and many of the tools as well, some of which are for Tolar and others for Trelayne. That should actually lighten the burden quite a bit. I guess our greatest chore now will be getting all of this from here to Foxguard."

Winokur glanced around. "Speaking of that marten, I don't see him among your present company. Where's he gotten to?"

"Oh, he must still be inside poking at the rock formations. Some of them really seem to have captured his interest. Can't imagine what rocks and glassmaking have to do with each other, but ... ah, here he comes now!"

They all turned to see Trelayne and his fox assistant Kyslith staggering out from the dark recesses of their overnight shelter, blinking and squinting in the midday sun. Each carried several small sample cases, which they promptly dumped into the bed of one cart. "Anything of value?" Custis asked.

"Why, yes, in fact," the marten replied. "Lord Urthblood always has me on the lookout for materials which might be of use to him - metal deposits and minerals, brimstone, saltpeter ... In this case, I found some deposits which might aid me in my work at Foxguard. I probably brought enough with me from Salamandastron for my present purposes, but it's nice to know more can be found relatively close to paw if I should need it."

"Anything we might find of use to us in our quarrying?" Winokur inquired.

Trelayne looked at the otter oddly. "No, not in the least, I should imagine."

Since the Gawtrybe lieutenant had relented and allowed the Redwallers to keep one of his carts, Monty felt it only fair to help the Northlanders on their way. Thus, as the squirrel pullers heaved to with all their might to wrestle their wagons up the long ramp out of the quarry, several of the Abbey otters lent their brawn to the enterprise as well, pushing at the rear of each cart to keep the momentum going and ease the burden of their benefactors. Now that they had the full light of day by which to work and no rain slickened the stone underpaw, and now that the carts were headed up instead of down, Monty and his otters felt safe positioning themselves behind the vehicles, confident in their ability to hold the wagons firm should any of the squirrel teams lose their grips.

In far less time than it had taken to empty one cart and redistribute its cargo amongst the remaining wagons, the Gawtrybe caravan was up the ramp and onto the surrounding countryside, along with its entire retinue of squirrels and their fox and marten charges. Winokur and Foremole joined them topside to represent the Abbey's leadership in this parting of ways.

"Thanks for the push," Custis told Montybank. "It was a big help."

"None o' me crew got flattened, so now I can safely say t'was my pleasure," Monty laughed. "An' thanks again to ye fer the cart. Not shore we'd be able t' get done what we came 'ere t' do without it."

"Yes," Winokur added, "I'll make sure the Abbot knows of your generosity when next I see him. We Redwallers remember our friends."

"That's reassuring. And may we remain friends for many seasons to come, through whatever may come to pass here in Mossflower." None of the Redwallers at that moment wondered at the squirrel's most careful phrasing.

Trelayne stepped forward to shake all their paws. "And please do impress upon your good Abbot that I fully intend to make good on my promise to return to Redwall and craft another figurine for him. I am a beast of my word, and I shall honor this obligation, be it this season, the next, or the one after that."

"No worries, no hurries, matey," Monty assured the marten. "Just come along when y' can, an' know that ye can always call Redwall a safe harbor in any storm!"

"Aye," echoed Log-a-Log, who'd also climbed up to join the farewell delegation. "An' as fer us, no tellin' when or where y' might find us again, although fer th' next season or so that'll likely be right here. But wherever our paths may cross, know ye've got a friend an' ally in us Guosim!"

"Well, in that case, I guess there's nothing left to say except - happy digging!" With a perfunctory bow, Custis spun and proceeded to the head of the squirrel column, and within moments the entire caravan was in motion, the Gawtrybe marchers and haulers making across the rolling fields toward Foxguard.

"Looks like we're on our own now," said Monty as they stood watching the Northlanders' retreating backs. "Half a day's march and a river 'twixt us an' Redwall, an' half a day from our friends at Foxguard too."

Winokur gazed up at the red tower dominating the southern horizon, looking even closer here than from Redwall. "I don't know, Skip - as long as we're within sight of THAT, I suspect we'll never truly be on our own! Hey, you know, it only just occurred to me, but did anybeast ever think to inform Tolar that we'd be re-opening the quarry?"

Monty gave a shrug. "Well, if he didn't know it before, he soon will from the Lieutenant an' his troop - prob'ly afore day's end, or early t'morrow at the latest. An', who knows, mebbe even long 'fore that, eh?" Sporting a typically wide and boisterous otter grin, the Skipper raised himself extra straight and tall and gave a hearty wave in the direction of the fox fortress.

00000000000

As it turned out, nobeast at Foxguard saw Monty waving their way; by that time the heads of that fortress had already seen quite enough.

"They certainly look like the Gawtrybe to me," Tolar weighed in as he gazed through the long glass at the Northlander company, who had yet to start up the ramp on their way out of the quarry. "I can make out their supply wagons. It has to be Lieutenant Custis's party."

"Custis was supposed to proceed directly here from Redwall after delivering the freed slaves to the Abbey," Sappakit pointed out from alongside his Sword. "What would he be doing at the quarry? Why not simply proceed straight to the banks of the Moss opposite us, and have us ferry them across?"

"Those were my own thoughts," Mona said from Tolar's other side. "And while some of those beasts looked like they might be our squirrel allies, a great many others did not. The entire assembly struck me as far too large to be the one we were expecting. That's why I summoned you."

"She's right," Sappakit seconded, accepting the long glass from his commander and intently studying the distant scene anew. "There are too many of them, and they are not all the same species. Something is definitely amiss."

Tolar refused to show alarm. "Perhaps those are Redwallers with them, or some of the former slaves who have decided for whatever reason not to settle at the Abbey. Perhaps something arose to cause Custis to change his plans. The many smaller beasts I see could certainly be the Guosim, which would fit with the boat-building activity we've seen along the far riverbank in recent days, if those shrews are on the move for their summer wanderings."

Sappakit lowered the paw-held telescope to glance aside at Tolar. "Why then were we not informed of any of this? Redwall has their Sparra, and have used those birds in the past to convey messages to us. If Lieutenant Custis was going to alter his travel plans so drastically, wouldn't he have availed himself of the Abbey sparrows to send us word?"

"Hmm. You have a point there. Then again, maybe the Lieutenant wouldn't consider it such a drastic change. The quarry's less than a day's march north of here, after all - and if the Guosim were able to get him across the Moss faster than our single ferry raft could hope to accomplish, he'd have been wise to accept their assistance. And I do see a number of rough-hewn barges along the banks nearest the quarry - more evidence to suggest that this party came from the direction of Redwall."

"They could have come from that general direction and still not be from the Abbey itself. I don't know, sir - it looks to me like they could be foxes, weasels and rats."

"Or squirrels, otters and shrews."

"Maybe. Scales are hard to discern from this distance and angle. All we know is their size relative to each other. But if that's not the Lieutenant's company, then we've got an honest-to-seasons horde on our paws."

"Could it be that gathering horde in the valley to the east that Klystra warned us about?" Mona wondered aloud.

"I can't imagine why they'd trade one big hole in the ground for another," Tolar said sardonically, "unless that's just what they prefer. But if that horde had been on the move, I'd like to think we would have spotted it before now. Then again, it does appear as if an entire horde's worth of creatures have made it across the river and to the quarry right under our noses. Just who was on watch again yesterday?"

When Monda and Weel, standing somewhat back from the balcony wall, realized the three foxes had fallen silent and were gazing at them expectantly, they began waving their paws before them as if to physically ward off any such insinuations. "T'weren't us, sir! We only came up 'ere at midnight, t' relieve Guth an' Jagro! They're th' ones who had lookout duty all day yesterday!"

Sappakit returned his gaze to the quarry, shaking his head. "Weasels," he muttered in disdain.

"It's a pity we didn't witness their actual crossing," Tolar said. "That might have answered some of these questions ... "

"Or not," Sappakit replied. "It would all depend on when it occurred. We had that horrendous fog this morning, which would have hidden everything, and before that we had a rainy, overcast night, which also would have hidden much."

"Aye, that's true, that's true!" Monda hastened to agree. "If any o' this had happened on our watch, we'd not o' seen it anyway!"

Sappakit stared toward the quarry. "Even so, I doubt those creatures down there were moving about the countryside in this morning's dense fog. They must have reached their present position sometime during the night, or even before that - which could mean they were crossing the Moss yesterday while it was still daylight. I think we need to have a talk with Guth and Jagro about just how diligently they were keeping watch on their shift; I know they like their harmless games of chance to help pass the time up here, but if they let a company of this size pass right under their snouts without spotting them, that would hardly be harmless."

"I'll speak with them personally," Tolar told his vulpine companions. "More to address any possible laxity of duty on their part than over concern about the present situation at paw. If it's Custis's group, we'll know it soon enough when they break camp and start our way."

"And if they start our way and they're _not_ the Gawtrybe?" Sappakit countered. "Or if they dig in there, fortify the quarry to make it a base of operations against us? We know firstpaw from our time there last winter what a convoluted mess of passages and tunnels that place is. If an enemy establishes a foothold there, they would not be easily dislodged. The matter must be investigated. And if it turns out an army of foebeasts have appeared on our doorstep, Lord Urthblood must be alerted at once ... and perhaps Redwall as well."

"Investigated how? Not that I necessarily disagree with you, Sapp, but it's only been a few days since Klystra last visited us, so I don't expect him here again anytime soon to do any aerial scouting for us. And we've no way of summoning any of Redwall's Sparra to us, even if they would be amenable to performing any potentially risky reconnaissance for us."

"Then send out a small scouting party on foot," Sappakit suggested.

"If a small party meets with foul play, we'll never hear back from them again, which will leave us none the wiser and will only have wasted their lives for naught. And a larger party which might withstand an engagement with an enemy that size would leave our forces too divided. This fortress is our strength and our bulwark, and we must only venture out from it when our purpose is clear and the need compelling."

"So, we just sit here and wait for them to declare themselves one way or the other?"

"Yes, Sapp. That is precisely what I propose we do."

Sappakit curled his lip in clear dissatisfaction, but pressed the issue no further.

"Might I make a suggestion?"

The two male foxes looked to Mona, who stood demure and confidently looking on. "Of course," the Sword prompted, mildly surprised; the healer vixen seldom weighed in on strategic or tactical matters.

"If I may point out, while we presently lack any birds to perform air surveillance for us, we do have a creature in our midst who can cover ground far faster than any fox or weasel, whose presence abroad in Mossflower would not raise an enemy's suspicions, and who could likely make it to the quarry and back in a single afternoon, with ease."

Now it was Tibball - the almost-forgotten and momentarily-overlooked occupant of the observation deck who'd found himself marginalized during the course of this militaristic consultation and brainstorming session - who realized all vulpine and mustelid eyes had turned upon him. The rabbit immediately went to hemming and hawing and fidgeting.

"Um, ah, er, who, me?"

Mona turned her most beguiling smile upon their woodlander guest. "What say you, friend Tibball? How well do you know these woods between Foxguard and the quarry?"


	5. Chapter 34

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

"You're not very good, are you?"

Cyril spared a scowling glance from his target tree twoscore paces away - and the several errant arrows littering the ground around it, along with the few luckier shafts which had found the trunk and now protruded from the bark - toward his critic. "If I'm ever going to be one of Redwall's defenders, I'll have to know how to handle a variety of weapons, including bow and arrow. And that means practicing."

Vanessa lay sprawled in the grass of the meadow outside the Abbey's south wall, where she could look on as her favored mouse performed his solitary archery drill. Studying the very mixed results of his efforts so far, she unsympathetically assessed, "You need a lot more then. Looks like you're still shooting through that fog we had this morning!"

Cyril grit his teeth and withdrew another arrow from his quiver. While her unsparing, juvenile criticism grated, he counted himself lucky to be drawing his usual, and very different, attentions from her. When he'd declared his intent to venture beyond the walls for a few rounds of target practice, he'd half-hoped Vanessa would beg off and decline to join him. Of course, then he likely would have been forced to abandon those plans altogether, since Abbot Arlyn still counted on him to stick close by the stricken Abbess. Fortunately, Vanessa had proven amenable to tagging along, and Cyril welcomed the chance to engage in an activity which would keep her under his watchful eye while granting him a pretext to insist she keep her paws - all four of them - to herself, along with her tail. Even a mouse in Vanessa's state must understand that an archer was not to be pestered while shooting, mustn't she?

Ironically, for all that she seemed to idolize and fixate upon Cyril in other ways, that attitude of adulation clearly didn't extend to his martial efforts. Since the start of his target practice this afternoon, she'd not passed up a single opportunity to scoff at his wide shots or belittle his obviously lackluster prowess in this area. After a couple more shots, Vanessa rolled over onto her back, kicking her footpaws up in the air. "This is so boring! Booooring! Why do we hafta be out here anyway? Why can't we be inside with all the interesting new beasties?"

"Because," Cyril impatiently explained without bothering to look her way, "those very same new beasties have got Redwall so crowded these days that it's not safe to loose a shaft anywhere within our walls. The Forest Patrol has to practice their archery outside the Abbey now, and we do too."

"Yeah, but they're good at it."

"Then go back inside, if this bores you so," Cyril snapped, then instantly regretted his words; if she followed this suggestion, then he would have to go back in with her as well, and whatever activity they found to share there might not hold her as relatively docile and controllable as she seemed here. Fortunately, she did not take him up on his terse offer.

"Naw. I've gotta stay here an' watch over you, after all."

This ludicrous statement broke through some of Cyril's sour attitude, eliciting a chuckle. "I think you've got that backwards," he said as he nocked another arrow to his bowstring, uncaring if this slip of the tongue tipped his paw as to his true motivations for seeking to spend so much time in his tormentor's company these days.

"Nuh huh. I remember when you talked to me."

"I've talked to you lots of times," Cyril muttered as he lined up his next shot. "Usually to my regret."

"It's not your destiny to be Abbey Champion, Cyril."

Cyril lowered his bow, arrow still nocked, and turned to stare at Vanessa. He'd almost forgotten that night, seven seasons earlier, during Lord Urthblood's first visit, but her words and tone brought it all back to him with the sudden abruptness of breaking glass, transporting him back to that solitary interlude in front of the great Tapestry, when he was sure he was alone and nobeast else was listening. But the Badger Lord's tumultuous presence had been forcing the Abbess to keep some fairly irregular hours, and it wouldn't have been entirely surprising to him if she were up and about on that particular occasion, and if she'd happened to be in the vicinity of Great Hall and overheard him issuing his beseeching plea to Martin for guidance.

More to the point, if Vanessa truly was now referencing that earlier occasion, that meant she was remembering something from before her injury, when she was fully Abbess and in complete possession of her faculties - precisely the kind of thing Arlyn and Winokur had tasked him to watch for.

"You were listening to me!" Cyril accused, more as an automatic reaction to discovering that a moment he'd thought private had been unwittingly shared with another. If he'd stopped to consider, he might have realized this genuine response could also serve to mislead Vanessa and make it less obvious that he sought to mine her former memories as part of his guardianship assignment.

But Vanessa seemed both oblivious and uncaring toward either his embarrassment or any ulterior motives he might have in questioning her so. Laying on her back, she gnawed at a blade of grass and gazed up at the sky. "Know why I like coming out here sometimes, outside the walls?"

"Um, no, why?" Cyril asked, thrown by her sudden change of topic, and not even aware she made a habit of venturing beyond the Abbey walls from time to time.

"It's thinner out here."

"Thinner?"

"More gets through. Inside can be very ... oppressive. Like a cloudy day in my mind all the time. It's always been that way, but it's getting better, now that she's coming."

"She?"

"You know. Oh, that's right, you don't." Vanessa popped up on her footpaws, displaying that impossible youthful springiness of her condition. "But you'll see! Everybeast will! She'll make it all clear ... clear in my head ... clear in my bed ... clear when I'm ... " Her gaze grew glassy and distant, and she started to sway unsteadily.

Cyril threw down his bow and started toward her, very much afraid that he knew what was coming. "Nessa ... Abbess ... "

"_DOWN!_"

Cyril found himself crouched low, paws over his head, at the imperative tone in her shouted command; the order was simply impossible to disobey.

"Down! Down! Everyrat down! Hide! Hide!"

Cyril glanced about frantically at this mention of a vermin species. "Rats? Where? Where?" He saw that her shouting had attracted the attention of some of Alexander's Forest Patrol up on the walltop, but other than that, nobeast was in sight.

Looking back at Vanessa, he beheld the sight he'd most feared: the Abbess's eyes rolling in her head as she toppled headlong onto the meadow grass and lay still as death. Cyril rushed to her side and, kneeling, shook her with gentle, respectful urgency. She stirred not, nor did she seem to draw breath.

Cyril nearly stumbled in his haste to run back to the Abbey. "Get Abbot Arlyn!" he shrieked at the squirrels up above. "Get Mother Maura, and Metellus! It's happened again!"

00000000000

For the first time that anyrat could remember, Latura seemed unsure which way to go.

The morning fog lifted to reveal a fairly clear trail through the forest ahead of them, in roughly the same direction they'd been headed before halting for the night. Latura raised no objection nor voiced any protest when Harth led them along the path, so every rat of their company simply fell into step behind the General on the assumption that all was as it should be, as it had been, with their protective prophetess guiding them unerringly on as always. When they reached the first fork in the path, however, the situation revealed itself as nowhere so simple.

"Which way, Lattie?" Harth demanded in his usual gruff and authoritative tones, expecting a prompt and straightforward - if not entirely coherent - reply from the simple-minded ratmaid, as was her wont. Thus, when his routine inquiry was met with silence, he turned to her with a surprised and expectant gaze, only to find Latura standing there with a perplexed expression of her own, glancing back and forth between the two paths in confusion.

"Well?" Harth prompted, a kernel of concern sprouting in his breast. "Do we go left, or right?"

"Not sure," she replied meekly. "Things're gettin' jumbled. We're gettin' close, real close, but somethin's ... "

"Aye?" the General growled after several moments when it became apparent Latura had said all she was going to. "Sumpthin's what? Speak to me, lass."

"Cloudy," she muttered, in defiance of the bright spring sun lancing through the forest canopy around them. "Gettin' all clouded over. Somethin's shiftin', makin' things hard t' see. Must be 'im. We gotta be careful, real careful ... "

Grota looked to his commander with some alarm. "'Him,' Gen'ral sir? What's she goin' on about? Y' don't s'pose Bryn's comin' after us after all, do ya?"

"If he is, we'll make this a day he'll live to regret, if he lives at all. Double the rearguard archers, an' tell the forward scouts to keep their eyes 'n' ears extra sharp."

"With pleasure, sir - soon's as I c'n tell 'em which trail t' scout down."

"That's th' sticker, ain't it?" Harth turned back to Latura. "Well, Lattie, y' gotta let us know one way or the other. We already lost near half a day to that damnable fog, an' I don't wanna stop fer another break so soon an' lose even more time. Which way do we go now?"

"Um ... "

Harth looked to Patreese and Castor. "Don't s'pose either of you have any ideas?"

Castor shrugged while his father shook his head. "Lattie's led us true so far," the elder rat said. "Whenever she's had lapses like this, an' there ain't been many, we've just forged on ahead, an' she allers sets us back on th' straight 'n' narrow 'ventually."

Paws akimbo in obvious impatience, Harth looked to all those around him. "I'm open to suggestions."

Grota pointed to the left path. "I say we go down that 'un. We know we gotta go south an' west t' get to Redwall, an' the other looks like it goes more due west. Prob'ly take us too far outta th' way."

"Hmm. Could be - not that direction's easy to tell in these woods, with the sun hidden most of the time. Just hope this left path doesn't dead end in a bog or at a cliff ... or twist so far south it takes us to that red tower, after all the walkin' we've done to avoid it. What say you, Lattie? Is it okay to take the left path?"

"Um ... 'kay?"

Harth rolled his eyes and gazed skyward. "Fates remind me again why I wanted to take charge o' this fool's errand? Okay, left it is. Grote, get those forward scouts fanned out ahead, an' tell 'em to be on the lookout fer anything."

"Aye, sir!"

The scouts met no trouble, but they did return a short time later to report that the advancing column would soon come to another branching of the ways. Sure enough, the vanguard presently reached this second fork, which once again left Harth and the others looking to Lattie for her customary guidance. For the second time, they found little reassurance in her response.

Latura seemed small and lost as she stood at the divergent trails, cast into indecision and possessing no clue. "I ... I dunno," she said weakly. "It's still all murky 'n' covered over. He's strong 'ere. There's sumpthin' ... "

"Who's strong?" Harth demanded. "Who're you talkin' about?"

"Th' red warrior. Wherever 'ee goes, or is strong, it's harder t' see. It's comin' partly from there ... " Latura vaguely waved in the general direction of the unseen tower to the south. "But there's somethin' more. Mebbe it's comin' from Redwall itself - he coulda been there. But we gotta be careful, real real careful. It's gettin' late, late past late, an' we're almost there."

"Well, that sounds dangerously promising," Harth growled, eliciting a snigger from Grota. Fixing his lieutenant with a piercing stare, he asked, "Well, Grote, you picked last time. Care t' make it two fer two?"

Grota deliberated as if his choice actually carried any weight. "I'd say take th' right one this time. Like you said, Gen'ral sir, don't wanna go _too_ far south, an' risk bein' steered toward that red fox fort Lattie sez we gotta avoid."

"My thoughts exactly. Okay, enuff lollygaggin'! Let's get a move on, 'fore evenin' overtakes us!"

Before long they came to yet another intersection of the forest paths, their present trail terminating at another which seemed to run more properly north-south. Once again a brief deliberation broke out as to which course to follow.

"Well," Grota speculated, gazing along the T-shaped crossroads to his left, "I'd say that way would def'nitely take us toward th' red tower. But if we go straight north, that might wipe out th' southward progress we made those last two branchin's. Fur, this forest wand'rin' sure can get a beast all turned 'round an' lost!"

"That's why we got scouts an' trackers," Harth said. "They're the experts in such things ... " He cast a jaundiced eye toward the still-confounded Latura, who stood back a few paces looking almost ill. "When prophecy lets us down, that is. But once more ye're right, Grote. South's not th' way this time. Might cause us some backtrackin', but north is the way we gotta - "

"_DOWN!_"

Every gaze turned to Latura, whose primal cry had cut off the rat general in mid-sentence - a gesture Harth did not appreciate, as betrayed by his irately-narrowed gaze. "What - "

"Down! Down!" she interrupted again, casting about her in panic. "Ev'ryrat down! Hide! Hide!"

Grota looked to Harth. "She's flipped. Worse'n usual, I mean. What's she jabberin' on about now?"

"Dunno, Grote, but when she acts like this, I've learnt t' pay ... " Harth's voice trailed off and he held up a paw for silence, cocking his head and flexing his ears. "Lissen! What's that?"

The others around him obeyed, and soon all eyes turned up the north path.

"Th' forest's singin'," Grota muttered in disbelief. "Th' trees're singin' ... "

"Somebeast's comin'," Harth snapped. "A lot of 'em, by the sound of it, still distant but closin' fast. An' if they've got Lattie in such a tizzy, I don't reckon they're anybeast we wanna have anything t' do with."

Grota surveyed the woods around them. "But, she said t' hide. Hide where? There's no hidin' spot here that'd cover our whole company."

"We passed a big rock shelf overhang a short ways back that'd prob'ly fit us all, an' shield us from any eyes not makin' a point of searchin' us out. But we gotta hurry." Harth pointed to his two forward scouts. "Ackert, Bharti, hide yerselves in the underbrush back there a ways. Don't break cover or reveal yerselves unless you gotta, but if you see a hostile force turn up our path toward us, bust it back to us as quick 'n' quiet as y' can t' let us know."

"Aye, sir!"

While the pair of archer rats hid themselves as ordered, Harth and Grota raced backwards along the flanks of their halted column to deliver the retreat message as they went; the trail was too narrow for a full turnaround, so they would have to backtrack with the rearguard taking the lead. Fortunately, with word passed to the entire company from front to back, everyrat was made aware of the urgency of the situation, and stood ready to move as soon as those in front of them did. Thus, when the rearguard and the trailing elements were finally turned about and set into motion, the column achieved a brisk clip much swifter than the staggered shuffle of their usual pace.

And all the while, that ghostly, indistinct singing grew louder, taking on a marching cadence even though the words remained indecipherable and the individual voices indistinguishable.

Patreese glanced nervously over his shoulder as he and his fellow village rats, now occupying the trailing position of the backtracking column, slowly withdrew from the new trail. "Lattie, what's going on? Who are they? Why're we runnin' from 'em?"

"Can't let 'em see us," Latura stammered. "They'll take us away, remove us from th' lands. They want all rats, all rats. We gotta hide, gotta hide real good, can't let 'em see us. It's got too late, too late, they're here now, we gotta let 'em pass by, pass by."

Hearing this, Castor placed a paw each on his father's and sister's shoulders, as if to urge them to greater speed. And for the first time, all of them - Strack and Mathurin and Turma and Palter too - began to silently question Harth's longstanding assertion that it was Plague they were fleeing Redwall to escape.

With every tortured, too-slow step they withdrew just a little farther from the forest trail intersection, just a little bit closer to shelter and concealment from whatever menace approached. After a few score paces they began to imagine that the shapeless voices were falling slightly behind them, but it was hard to be certain, and so they pushed onward as fast as the rats in front of them permitted.

At last they reached the large rock overhang alongside the path that they'd passed only a short time earlier, never thinking that they might have to retreat to this point and avail themselves of its cover. Latura and her longtime companions filed down off the main trail to join the others crouched and cowered and squatting beneath the protruding rock ledge that formed a shallow, rudimentary caves of sorts. The trees grew more sparsely here, meaning that if they didn't stay down they'd be easily spotted by anybeast who came along. The seven village rats wasted not a moment in hiding down beneath the long overhang with all the others.

No sooner had the stragglers among them settled down to wait out they knew not what, than the ghostly singing to the west suddenly tapered off to a gradual silence, one voice at a time dropping out of the phantom chorus until, seemingly within a matter of heartbeats, the unknown song fell mute, like a tuneful tide ebbing away to fade into the normal sounds of the afternoon forest. One or two of the more audacious rat soldiers made to rise and peer over the lip of their protective ledge, but Latura hissed, "Don't look up, don't norat show yerself! Can't be seen, can't let 'em see us!"

She wasn't alone in dealing out this admonition. "Stay down!" Harth growled out. "Pass that up an' down th' line. Any rat o' mine who sticks his head up'll lose it to me, if no enemy takes it first!"

The order was quickly relayed, and within moments neither Latura nor Harth had any curious peekers to worry about who might betray the company's presence here. Everyrat sat tight, tempted as they might be to sneak a look topside.

Latura tensed, going rigid as death. "They're comin'! They're comin'! Don't breathe! Don't make a sound!"

Every rat within earshot fell deathly quiet, scarcely daring to draw breath, while others passed on word of her urgent warning in the faintest whispers they could manage. All were here as part of this pilgrimage because of Latura, and none doubted the veracity of her prophecy, so none now dared disregard her dire caution. Ratmums sat with paws over babes' mouths and rocked them gently to keep them pacified, while older children were clutched close to hold them still. Even the youngest seemed to recognize their peril, or appreciate the need for silence even if they didn't fully understand it, and very quickly all hundred and a half rats became as quiet and unmoving as the rock sticking out over their heads.

Into that enforced hush intruded the tiniest of rustles, little more than the breeze stirring the leaves and setting the tree branches asway - except that there was no breeze. From the closest trees - which were still none too close, and not within sight from the rats' low hiding place - there may or may not have come the barest trace of careful voices, trained voices, in close consultation. Harth's knuckles went white around the hilt of his sword, and his were not the only ones, but even in the face of this almost unbearable tension, every fighting rat there held its place, and held its tongue.

Perhaps the murmured voices in the trees went away then, or perhaps they remained, reduced to crafty whispers - or perhaps, craftier still, their owners now sat in silent ambush, waiting to spy out any sign of movement from their quarry. Without the ability to stick their heads up to look, it was impossible for even the sharpest-eared of the rats to tell.

At last Harth painstakingly rose from where he sat and went to Latura, crouching like a hunchback and placing each pawstep noiselessly upon the stone without the barest slap of a fleshy sole or click of toeclaws or scrape of a dragging tail. "Lattie," he whispered softly but urgently into the ratmaid's ear, "when'll it be safe t' move again? I can't keep all this lot quiet like this ferever. Y' gotta let us know soon as the danger's past."

She nodded. "Sit tight fer now, sit tight, tight. Not outta th' woods yet, an' neither're they. Gotta wait fer 'em t' pass by, pass by."

Harth settled onto his haunches where he was, not bothering to return to his previous position. "You let us know soon as y' can, right?"

Latura nodded again, but said nothing.

More time passed, the anxious moments stretching out with agonizing slowness in the charged atmosphere under the secret ledge. The babes and youngsters grew fidgety, and even some of the adults began to show restlessness, stretching arms and legs and shifting about to release some of the strained tension from their muscles. Harth looked to Latura. "We can't stay down here much longer - we ain't all trained soldiers with the discipline t' hold still fer so long," he whispered at her. "We're gonna hafta stir sooner or later, even if it means bein' discovered. When's it gonna be safe?"

The ratmaid glanced around as if tasting the air with her eyes, although her gaze suggested she saw far beyond the forest in front of her. "Think they're gone from right above us," she said in an almost normal voice. "Think so ... can't be sure. Can't go back to th' road yet. They gotta pass."

"Ah. So, now that all my rats've just spent a good spell sittin' here tremblin' over some unseen phantoms, wouldja mind tellin' us 'xactly who that was we were hidin' from?"

"Part o' th' red."

"Huh?"

But Latura would say no more, and just sat there, knees hugged to her chest.

So Harth waited along with her, biding his time and chewing on nothing as the afternoon wore on and the refugees under his care fussed and chafed at this clandestine imprisonment more openly. This overhang made a suitable hiding place, with all of them packed together shoulder to shoulder, but it would hardly serve as a satisfactory campsite to spend the night, with scarcely room for even a third of them to stretch out comfortably for sleeping. He would ideally prefer to lead them back to the crossing of the two trails, and thence north, away from the southern path taken by their invisible stalkers. The failure of Ackert and Bharti to report back in any kind of timely manner concerned him, and the strategic-minded rat wasn't about to break their cover en masse until he knew more about what had happened at the head of this trail, at the very least.

At length Harth pointed to two of his most experienced scouts. "You two, creep up along this path to its end, meet up with Akkers an' Bart if y' can, then hasten back here t' let us know what's goin' on."

The twosome hesitated, looking to Latura for confirmation that this was the right thing to do. "If that's all right with you," the rat general bit off, slightly miffed at having his authority eroded or undermined in any way.

Latura gazed absently to one side. "They ain't singin' no more."

"Yeah, I can hear ... oh." Harth, realizing the simple ratmaid's straightforward statement could carry more than one meaning, said to the duo he was dispatching, "Don't go up on the open trail. Head out down that way, into the trees, an' keep to the thick of the forest much as you can, until you rendezvous with the other two, or see somethin' that makes you turn back. See what's to be seen, then report back fast as y' can."

"Um, aye, sir," they acknowledged, with considerably less enthusiasm than Ackert and Bharti had. Cautiously, with an abundance of furtive glances, they descended from their communal hiding place into the denser woods alongside the relatively open path, and quickly disappeared from sight.

They returned after what seemed a short time in comparison to the earlier interminable wait. "Bart 'n' Akkers're dead," one breathlessly reported.

"How?" Harth asked with cold command.

"Shot with arrows," the second replied, visibly shaken at the memory of finding his comrades slain. "One shaft each, one through th' heart, one through the eye, right where they sat in their cover. Looked like they were taken by surprise - never had so much as a chance t' reach fer their weapons."

Harth digested this. "That much makes sense at least - they'da known not to challenge a superior force, or to break cover an' reveal themselves. Musta been made out by whatever beasts these were, spotted an' slain on sight. Fur-be-damned sharp eyes, an' expert shooting skills too."

"Aye," the first scout affirmed. "Doubt even th' best of us 'ere could match shootin' like that. One shot each, right through their camouflage!"

"Good thing Lattie got us all back here. We'd not've fared well 'gainst skills like that, an' they seem more inclined to shoot first an' ask questions never. Was there any sign of 'em at all? Any indication of their passage, or identity?"

"Near as we could tell, no, sir. Looked like they'd all moved on, whoever an' however many of 'em there were."

Harth turned to Latura. "Well, what say you now? Is it safe to move out? Do we go forward, back or sit tight here awhile longer?"

"Uh huh."

"Uh huh? Uh huh _what_?!"

"Keep goin', way we were. Red's cleared out now, on its way to the other red. We gotta go north, to th' rocks. Nuthin's in th' way now. It's all clear. Go to th' rocks, find th' Greenpup t'morrow." She looked Harth in the eye as if he ought to perfectly understand. "Ain't gettin' late no more. Tried t' trap us, but we outsmarted him. Got th' time now, got th' time we need. Didn't hafta leave yesterday after all."

Harth scowled. "Fergive me if I don't feel all victorious, with two o' my best scouts dead an' this stretch of Mossflower haunted by singin' ghosts who see things that oughta be invisible and shoot better'n any mortal beast possibly can. If we run inta them again, with no place t' hide, we'll be just about finished. So I ask again, is it safe now?"

Latura nodded with uncharacteristic confidence. She pointed down at the ground with one paw and up into the air with the other. "Uh huh. They're goin' that way, we're goin' this way. Both got places t' be, can't wait 'round. They're passed, won't be comin' back. It's clear now, like it weren't b'fore. Tried t' trap us, but the other warrior wouldn't let 'im."

Grota rolled his eyes toward Harth. "There she goes agin with that warrior stuff ... "

"She can jabber on about flyin' hedgehogs fer all I care. She gave us a warning nobeast else coulda, an' it saved all but two o' us. Reminder o' why we're followin' her in the first place, eh? Now, let's get on the move, an' get past that meeting of th' paths 'fore evening falls. Assumin' these unseen terrors truly have gone south an' left no rearguard behind, I wanna put some distance 'tween us an' them 'fore we stop fer th' night."

"Guess we'll not be lightin' any fires agin t'night?" Grota glumly assumed.

"That we won't, Grote. An' we'll post double the usual watch - fer all the good it'll do us if these killers double back on us under cover of dark."

Shortly, all the rats in their company were back up on the open trail, glad to be free to move once more even as a dread apprehension hung over them as to what might lie ahead. Word of Ackert and Bharti's fate had spread throughout the group, and none of them cared to speculate that they might join the two ill-fated archers. When they got underway again, it was with far less enthusiasm and far more hesitancy than before.

Soon they were back at the crosstrail for the second time that afternoon, their present path ending at the longer one running north to south. Harth was shown to where Bharti and Ackert lay, and what he saw quickly confirmed his earlier assessment.

"By th' fang!" the rat general spat as he stood parting the branches to stare down at Ackert's corpse. "Nobeast shoulda been able t' even see 'im under this cover, much less get off such a clean shot! An' ye're right: no sign either of 'em made any move fer their weapons, or tried to retreat t' warn us. They were taken completely by surprise."

"That's what we figgered, Gen'ral sir. An' lookit the angle of that shaft!"

Harth knelt and dispassionately examined the gruesome sight of the neatly-feathered shaft protruding from Ackert's oozing eye socket. "Aye - shot from above." He glanced up into the trees about them "Well, no guesses needed as to what kind o' creatures they were."

"Fur-forsaken squirrels!" Grota cursed. "What'd we ever do to 'em?"

Harth raised a mildly bemused eyebrow toward his lieutenant. During his seasons in vermin hordes, he'd done plenty to squirrels, and he knew Grota had too. But not _these_ squirrels - warriors of such uncanny expertise meted out punishment, they didn't take it. "P'raps they're seekin' out Emperor Krayne an' our old mates fer payback over some transgression, real or supposed, we might've done to their kin at some time or other. In which case, I wish Bryn an' his buddies good luck. I'm just happy to be upstream of 'em, an' that's the way I wanna keep it." He stepped back from the bushes, letting the branches close again to mostly conceal his fallen rat. "I'm only hoping they weren't Redwallers themselves, an' this is the kind o' reception we can expect at the Abbey."

"Ain't gonna happen," Latura assured Harth from a few paces away on the path. "They were part o' th' red."

"Redwall's red, ya dolt! That's why they call it Redwall!"

"Uhh ... " Latura placed a paw to her chin, as if this had never occurred to her before. "Yeah, but, that's a good kinda red. These were th' bad kind."

"You c'n say that again." One of the other scouts stooped to relieve Ackert of his weapons, but Harth stayed him. "No, leave 'im be."

"But, don'tcher wanna salvage 'is sword an' bow 'n' quiver, sir?"

"No. In case any of those terrors do double back this way, I don't want to leave any obvious signs that anybeast else has been through here. Leave them as they fell. They died in service to us, so the least they deserve is to have their arms left to 'em."

As Harth led his procession north up the path, he stared down at the rutted earth. "Well, that's a promisin' sign, at least."

"What is, Gen'ral sir?" Grota asked.

"These tracks. They weren't here earlier. Those squirrels've got wagons with 'em - more'n one, an' heavy too, by th' look of it."

"Oh. An' that's good, because ... ?"

"It means they're less mobile than I first thought. Must've been an advance scouting party that took out Bart 'n' Akkers - they took 'em out 'cos they thought _we_ meant to ambush _them_. Leastways, that's how I'd guard a convoy of my own, if I had slow-movin' wagons to protect. It also means they're not likely to turn about an' come back this way. They prob'ly set up a rearguard to make sure they ain't bein' followed, but other than that, they're happy just to be on their way. You don't go haulin' heavy carts like that through the deep woods unless you've got a good reason to be doin' it. Those brushtails were on their way somewhere, deliverin' something or other, and I'm bettin' t'were just lousy providence that brought us so close together at all."

"Sure was lousy fer Acks 'n' Bart," said Grota. "But mebbe t'were more'n just proverdence, Gen'ral sir."

"Oh?"

"Well, Lattie lost 'er way earlier, an' how often has that happened? If we'd taken either of the other paths we didn't take, we mighta not run inta those squirrels t'all." Grota lowered his voice. "What if ... what if there really is some kinda spirit out there workin' 'gainst us, who tried t' blind Lattie an' lead us all inta an ambush?"

"As I recall, Grote, _you_ were the one who suggested which paths to take."

"Um ... er ... "

"Naw, if the fates are aligned against us to that extent, I can't waste my worry over it, 'cos it's outta my paws anyway. I got eightscore rats to get to Redwall if I can, an' I'll do it usin' what I know. Lattie's been good 'nuff to get her friends 'n' kin all the way from the far eastern coast to where they are now, an' ev'ryrat here's still lookin' to her to deliver us to the Abbey. An' if Lattie 'n' me can't get that done, as close as we are now, then I reckon there's nobeast that could - spirits or no spirits!"


	6. Chapter 35

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

Tibball, as it turned out, did not in fact know the forest north of Foxguard nearly as well as his home woods to the south. Nor did he exactly possess the innate sense of direction normally associated with - and required of - seasoned and skilled scouting beasts. Thus it was hardly surprising that, even with his rabbit's fleetness of foot, evening overtook him finding him still nowhere near the quarry, and not entirely sure of precisely where he was.

The twisting, turning forest trails had hardly served to speed his quest, nor did the fully-leafed spring trees that often hid the sun for manyscore strides at a time. Once or twice he tried his paws at deviating from the obviously proven clear paths to delve through less traveled ways - and once or twice he nearly blundered into a bog, or stumbled into an impenetrable and inescapable bramble patch. These more daring excursions persuaded him to stick to the more established trails ... although even this didn't prevent him from getting turned around and redirected from the path he wanted to follow. Or imagined that he wanted to follow, which may or may not have been the same thing.

Later in the afternoon, when he'd already been traveling long enough to have easily reached the quarry if only these treacherous winding paths didn't keep confounding him so, Tibball fancied that he heard some kind of singing or chanting wafting his way through the trees, faint and distant. It had been coming from his left, or perhaps his right - he couldn't really be sure. And then it had cut off to silence, if it had ever been there at all. Pinpointing its possible source as best he could, Tibball resolutely set out in the opposite direction; sure, they could have been allies, but they could just as easily be enemies. Mona and Tolar hadn't mentioned anything about their expected squirrels being singers, and Tibball had heard that vermin sometimes sang - not that he'd ever actually witnessed any singing vermin himself, but such tales were best not discounted. The foxes and weasels at Foxguard didn't seem like the singing sort, but then they were hardly typical vermin, showing the good manners of inviting a rabbit into their midst without eating him. No, wild vermin - with no fine red sandstone fortress to call their own - could not be depended upon to exhibit such refinement, and so any chance of running into such beasts was best avoided if at all possible.

But now that the westering sun could no longer be seen between the close-growing trees, Tibball found himself getting turned about worse than before.

"It all seemed so simple and straightforward, looking down from the top of that tower," he muttered to himself in his mounting frustration. "Just strike out from Foxguard and head almost due north through the forest - how hard could it be? If only these paths and trails were as straightforward, instead of conspiring to confuse me and get me all lost like this, I would have reached the quarry long before now. What this stretch of Mossflower really needs is a good proper road, laid out between here 'n' there, that anybeast could follow without all this fuss and bother. Perhaps I'll suggest that to Mona and Tolar when I get back ... if I ever get back. Those foxes seem to relish their grand projects, and what could be grander than that? But they never should have sent me out on this errand without a clear course to follow. Serves them right if I get myself so lost that I never find my way back to them, and leave them guessing what's going on at that quarry until season's end!"

Tibball stopped himself then, realizing even to his own ears how ridiculous he sounded. "Oh, who am I fooling? If there's only one place in all of Mossflower that I _will_ be able to find my way back to, it's that red tower. Nobeast can miss it for long, no matter how thick the forest." Spotting a cozy moss-covered tussock, he settled down onto it and delved into his shoulder-slung provision satchel. "Most thoughtful of those brushtails to make up this pack for me - didn't think I'd need it for such a short run, but it just goes to show, eh? This ought to tide me over until I can next get to a proper and respectable larder, whether that's from friends I might encounter at the quarry or back at Foxguard if they turn out to be foes and I'm forced to beat a hasty retreat. Mmm ... candied chestnuts! Thought you could only find stuff like this at Redwall. Mmm, skrmph mmrph trmmrphh ... "

Finishing his brief repast, Tibball climbed to his footpaws once more and surveyed the evening woods around him. "Hmm - still got some decent travelling daylight left, even if the sun has almost set. Seem to remember seeing an open stretch of grassy meadow all around the quarry, unless my eyes deceived me from so high up. If I could make it through to there before full night, wouldn't be a bad place to settle down and sleep through until dawn, and then wait until tomorrow to reach the quarry. Of course it would mean going without a decent meal for that much longer, but I've been lost in the forest at night once or twice before, much closer to my home than this, and it's not an experience I'd care to repeat!" Even before the rabbit's self-directed chunnering and nattering had ceased, Tibball was on his way again, the forest path falling away behind him under his stride. "So let's see if we can't find our way out of these woods to someplace more hospitable before the light fails and the owls come out, eh?"

Glancing about him as he walked, he continued his running commentary, never pausing to consider whether such verbalizing might attract the attention of the very kinds of predators he sought to escape the forest by nightfall in order to avoid. "Hmm - I seem to remember hearing something once about finding your way through the woods by looking at which side of the trees the moss is growing on. Now, was that the north side it grew on, or the south? Hm - just my luck, none of these trees have got any moss growing on them at all! Well, at least now I don't feel so bad for not being able to remember!"

The diminishing light of the long spring twilight saw him through several more branchings of the myriad forest trails. "Surely I must be on the right track now," Tibball thought aloud, beginning to wish he had a tracker of his own here with him now. "This way just _feels_ north. I'm sure of it. Won't be long now before I break clear of these trees altogether. Maybe I can even make the quarry before full dark after all! Once I'm out in the open fields, I'll be able to put on some extra speed and eat up the ground! Much rather spend the night there - assuming it's not all swarming with nastybeasts - than out in meadow or wood, or even Foxguard, come to think of it. The beds are cozy enough, but all that poking and prodding Mona did to me ... and all those bones and creature parts she's got down in her cellar ... ungh! Gives a fellow the willies, stuff of nightmares! Makes me wonder what she'd have done with me if I really had been a hare. Well, that place is far behind me now, and I don't have to worry about seeing its insides again for another day, or even two! For now it's onto the quarry, and - ooph!"

The mere thought of running free and unhindered through open field and meadow had unconsciously stirred Tibball to greater speed along the dimming forest paths, and he'd practically been at a full run when he blundered right into the two heavily armed rats.

00000000000

"Hey, Gen'ral! Lookit what we found!"

Harth, glad to be off his footpaws after the long day's march and the tense, mystifying afternoon encounter which had left two of his rats dead, glanced up from his log bench amidst the company's evening encampment at the reporting scouts - and at Tibball trembling in their grasp between them.

"Why would you take a local rabbit captive and bring him here?" the rat general inquired in a level voice, an expression of mild displeasure darkening his features.

"Um ... er, should we o' slayed 'im instead?"

Harth's voice and expression didn't change. "Why would you slay a local rabbit?"

"Why, 'cuz 'e was followin' us, Gen'ral sir!"

"I find that hard to believe." Harth's gaze bore in on Tibball's wide and frightened eyes. "Were you followin' us?"

"N-n-no, sir! I was just on my way to the quarry, trying to get there by nightfall, so I was hastening on my way rather, um, hastily, and I hastened right into these two good rats on the path. I didn't even know you were here until that moment, so how could I have been following you?"

"Well, at least that makes somewhat more sense than what these two boneheads just said. You mentioned a quarry around these parts? Where?"

Tibball nodded vigorously, wanting to appear as cooperative as possible to the leader of this veritable horde he'd inadvertently stumbled upon. "Just north of these woods. The forest gives way to open meadowlands, then the quarry's a short distance beyond that. As I said, I was hoping to be there by nightfall, but these twisting paths have got me all rather ... well, twisted about myself."

Latura had wandered over during the course of this mild interrogation, and found herself nodding in time with Tibball. "Th' rocks. He means th' rocks. That's where we gotta go."

"Yeah, I'd kinda figgered." Harth looked back to Tibball. "And what's yer business at the quarry?"

"Um, reports and rumors of a large group of creatures spotted there. Not sure if they were friend or foe, so I was off to investigate." Tibball thought it prudent, considering his present company, not to divulge just how that group had been spotted, by whom, or just what would constitute a "friend" or "foe" in the eyes of those who'd dispatched him. "Uh, don't suppose that was you lot? You didn't just come from the quarry, did you?"

"No. We didn't. Tell me, that large group you were headin' out to investigate - they couldn't by any chance have been squirrels, could they?"

Something told Tibball it might not be in his best interest to be entirely forthcoming about the Gawtrybe Tolar was expecting, any more than revealing it was the fox Sword who'd drafted him for this reconnaissance mission. "Um ... well, that's rather hard to say, since I haven't been there yet, have I?"

"You didn't pass any large company of squirrels before you came upon us?"

"Uh ... no? Although I did hear what sounded for all the world like singing at one point." Tibball's anxious gaze travelled over all the grim rodent faces around him. "Don't suppose you lot all go for singing as you march, do you?"

"No ... but there's some rat-slayin' squirrels hereabouts who apparently do." Harth turned to Grota. "So, they were headin' south from the quarry while we were headed north toward it - almost like fate wanted us t' run smack inta each other. If Lattie hadn't warned us in th' nick of time, it coulda been a massacre, with us on the bad end of it."

"True 'nuff," Grota agreed. "Question now is, have they all left th' quarry, or did some stay behind? We gotta tread careful, or it'll be more'n just two scouts we lose next time." The lieutenant rat looked to Tibball, still gripped tight by his two captors. "What about it, bunny? Did yer treejumper pals split up, or are they all behind us to th' south now?" Grota's paw strayed to the sword hilt at his belt.

"I beg your pardon, but they are _not_ my pals, nor anybeast of my acquaintance at all, for that matter. I can't even be certain at this moment whether these singing squirrels of yours and the group rumored to be at the quarry even have anything to do with each other." Tibball glanced aside at the rough paws retraining him. "And now that we've settled that, I would very much like to be on my way, if you'd be so kind."

Grota and several of the others sniggered cruelly at the rabbit's clueless audacity, but to their surprise Harth waved a weary paw for the captive to be released. "This one's no use to us. Might as well let him go."

"But, but ... sir! He's a rabbit! We can't just let good eatin' like that - "

"Lieutenant!" Harth snapped in a dangerous tone, immediately silencing Grota's protests. "We are close to Redwall - perhaps just across the river, perhaps just a day or two away. Anybeast we meet from this point on could be a friend or ally of that Abbey. How would it look if we show up at their gates asking for sanctuary and it slips out that, oh, by the way, we just happened to eat one o' yer friends or relatives?" Harth's penetrating gaze went from one rat's face to another. "No woodlander we meet from now on is to be harassed, harmed or detained, unless we're forced to it in self-defense. Do I make myself clear? Now, release this - "

Now it was Harth's turn to be interrupted. "Can't let 'im go."

All eyes turned to Latura. "What was that, Lattie?" Harth asked.

"Can't let 'im go. He'll bring th' bad red back."

"Is that so?" Harth narrowed his gaze, full of new suspicion, toward Tibball. "I thought you said you didn't know those squirrels, rabbit."

"But, I don't, honestly, I don't!" Tibball squirmed in the suddenly-tightened grips of the two scout rats. "I don't know them at all!"

Harth got up from his log bench and leaned in dangerously close to Tibball. "Lattie 'ere knows things nobeast else knows. She knows when a beast's bein' truthful, an' when it's bein' false. Now, why would she say sumpthin' like that if you were to be trusted?"

Tibball started at Latura imploringly. ""Miss ... ma'am ... marm ... please tell them I'm being truthful, and that I don't know those squirrels!"

"Well, that's true. He don't."

Harth turned to Latura again, confused. "Well, which is it? Is he a spy, or ain't he?"

"He don't know th' skwirls ... but if we let 'im go, he'll run back to th' red tower an' fetch 'em back 'ere. That'd be bad, bad."

"Wait, what?" Harth sputtered, more confused than ever. "He's from th' red tower? But, that's a fox place!"

Latura shrugged as if that was of no consequence. "Let 'im go, an' all th' bad red comes down on us, an' we don't get t' Redwall."

Harth set his jaw resolutely. "Well, that's enuff for me. Get some rope and bind this creature's paws so he can't run off, and set a watch over him so he doesn't try to free himself." As the other rats scrambled to obey, Harth bent down to look Tibball in the eye. "I don't know who you are, or what kind of game ye're playin', but you're with us now. You say ye're makin' for the quarry, an' so're we, so we'll travel there together. You'll spend the night in bonds, an' come morn we'll untie your ankles so you c'n walk. If we reach the quarry on the morrow an' find it's full of woodlanders we can treat with, you're gonna tell 'em how nice we were to you, how we didn't kill or torture you when you gave us cause to, an' that we're only travellers lookin' for help in crossin' the river. But if there' still any of them murderous squirrels lyin' in wait for us, we'll make sure t' keep you front an' center, so that if the arrows start flyin', you'll be one of the first they'll find."

Once Tibball was firmly bound wrist and ankle and settled against a treetrunk under Harth's appraising gaze, most of the other rats turned their attention elsewhere while two sentries took up position on either side of him. The rat general stalked off to take his evening meal and see to his own sleeping arrangements; Grota hovered at his commander's side.

"I dunno 'bout all this, Gen'ral sir. Do you really think we c'n trust that bunny?"

"I don't trust that rabbit; I trust Lattie. Right now she seems to think all our enemies're behind us an' we got clear marchin' from here to that quarry, where the worst we'll find are those halfmice an' that 'Greenpup' she keeps goin' on about. We'll see if she still says th' same come daybreak, an' if so we'll push for the quarry at a brisk step with no time to lose. Until then, we'll keep double watch throughout the night, with an extended perimeter guardin' all approaches, an' hope trouble doesn't find us under cover of darkness."

Back at the tree they'd left behind, Latura sat down next to the clearly uncomfortable Tibball, acting quite casual about the entire situation. "Hullo! I never talked to a bunny before - they allers run away when they see us comin'. My name's Lattie. What's yers?"

"Um, Tibball ... "

Latura's face screwed up as if this information had afflicted her. "Oooo, I'll never 'member that. Oh, my name's Lattie, by th' way."

"Oh, uh, hullo again, Lattie. Do you, um, mind if I ask you something?"

"What?" The ratmaid's prompt made it unclear whether she was biding him to go ahead, or wasn't sure what a question was.

"Why'd you say that about me? About me bringing those squirrels back here, and bringing you trouble? I never intended any such thing."

"Can't help it. It's what I saw happenin'."

"But, I don't even know who they are, or what they're on about! I'm not here to cause anybeast trouble!"

"Don't matter. It's what I saw, an' I allers gotta speak what I see."

"Even if it's not true?"

This seemed to confuse Latura more than her usual demeanor. "Dunno whatcha mean. Ain't never not been true before."

"Um, okay. So, did I understand correctly that you're on your way to Redwall? To seek sanctuary there?"

Latura beamed joyfully at this change of subject. "Ayup! We're all gonna go live at Redwall!"

"All of you?"

"Well, wouldn't make sense t' leave any o' us behind, would it?"

"Um ... no, I guess not. Are they expecting you?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

"I'll, uh, take that as a no. But you see, the thing is, I've never been to Redwall before, and I'd very much like to. Do you think it might be possible for ... well, for me to join you? Assuming you don't, er, slay me first?"

"Oh, sure, you c'n come along, Mister Bunny. Be much safer fer us if you did."

The guards, who'd been on the verge of buffeting Tibball to silence with their spear butts over his absurd request to accompany the rats to Redwall, stayed their paws upon hearing Latura's reply. If she claimed bringing the rabbit along with them was a good idea, they weren't about to go against her.

And as for Tibball, who was expected back at Foxguard with his report, the rabbit figured that if these rats weren't about to let him return to the fox fortress until after they were safely across the Moss, there was nothing he'd be able to tell Mona and Tolar that they wouldn't already have learned from other sources. He wouldn't be breaking his word or abandoning his duty, not really. It wasn't as if he had much control over his present circumstances anyway, as the circulation-restricting ropes binding his paws amply reminded him. Thus relieved of any moral quandary, he settled back against his treetrunk and closed his eyes, making himself as comfortable as he could while he waited for morning to arrive.

"Well, I wanted some adventure in my life," he murmured to himself. "Looks like I got it, and more than I bargained for too!"

00000000000

The lingering spring twilight had deepened almost to full dark by the time the Gawtrybe caravan emerged from the forest path into the clearing surrounding Foxguard. The forward squirrel scouts, having ranged ahead through the treetops and judging their destination to be within striking distance before the final failing of daylight, urged their compatriots on so that they could all enjoy a night within the protective walls of their vulpine hosts instead of having to camp yet again under the stars in the wild woods.

Tolar and his foxes stood awaiting the squirrels' arrival. Indeed, the procession of Northlanders was spotted leaving the quarry that afternoon, clearly visible from the towertop observation deck with the aid of the long glass - although, as luck would have it, too late to recall Tibball from his hastily-mounted reconnaissance mission. It seemed now that the reasons for the rabbit's dispatchment had found their way to Foxguard ahead of Tibball's own report on the matter.

The fox Sword came down from the walltop to greet Custis just outside the stronghold's entrance, with Mona and several weasels at his side. The Gawtrybe lieutenant stayed with the carts so as not to reach the reception party unduly ahead of the main column, and thus Tolar was kept waiting as the creaking, straining caravan inched forward toward where he stood.

"Greetings," the fox commander said as the lead cart with its attendant squirrels pulled within the island of illumination cast by a pair of lamps brought out to guide the Gawtrybe. "Lieutenant Custis, I presume?"

"That I would be. And do I have the pleasure of addressing Sword Tolar?"

"That you do. We saw you leaving the quarry with your carts after the morning fog lifted. We weren't expecting you from that direction, and weren't even certain it was you when we first spotted you from the tower. And it seems a large number of creatures remained behind at that pit. It all left us ... puzzled, to say the least."

"I can understand why. The others are Redwallers. They've decided to reopen the quarry."

"Oh? This is news to me."

"I only learned of it myself upon my arrival at the Abbey. They need to add more housing for their expanding community, especially after all the additional former slaves we escorted there. Having dwelt out on their lawns for several days, I can certainly attest to their need, and from what I understand their expansion plans are most grand and ambitious, and they expect to be quarrying sandstone straight through spring and into summer. I'll tell you more about everything over our evening meal, if you'd care to join us - we opted to press on rather than stop for any food break, so we've not eaten yet, and are quite hungry."

"Of course. For this night, our larders and kitchens are yours. I've not yet eaten myself, so I will gladly join you. But I'm still not entirely sure why you yourselves crossed at the quarry instead of proceeding straight here and letting us cross you with our own ferry ... or why you didn't send advance word as to your change of plans."

"Well, since the Abbeybeasts needed to cross the river in numbers for their own purposes anyway, we decided to pool our labor and resources so that we could all cross together at the same spot. As you can see, our carts are quite large, and the Redwallers needed oversized barges to ferry their cut stone back to the Abbey, so constructing them proved to be of benefit to both of us. It was never my intention to travel with them all the way to the quarry, but when wet weather threatened and the rain set in toward the end of our crossing, we figured it made sense to shelter there. And as for advance word, we assumed you'd be able to see our boat-building party on the opposite banks, and that would be all the notification you'd need. Wasn't that plainly visible from the tower?"

"We saw it, of course, but assumed it was just the Guosim making logboats for their summer wanderings. The forest overhang hid much of the activity, so we never clearly discerned just which beasts were there."

"Ah. And what of our actual crossing yesterday afternoon? Surely you observed that too?"

"There's ... still some discrepancy over that. It seems our lookouts on that shift may not have been as attentive in that direction as they should have been."

"Oh?" Custis raised an eyebrow, mostly invisible in the lantern light, but his voice conveyed what expression alone could not. "I'm surprised to hear of such a thing at Foxguard. I thought your vigilance never flagged."

"An atypical lapse, nothing more. In any event, I can see why you sought the shelter of the quarry for the night. I still vividly recall my own time there two winters ago. It was a period both frustrating and thrilling - frustrating, because the work seemed to creep along at such a slow pace when taken day by day, and we foxes were not suited to such work and surroundings, but also thrilling, since we knew it was all going toward a fortress for us unlike any the lands had ever seen. I trust we didn't leave the place in too bad a shambles for you?"

"Not at all. And the spare work lamps left behind proved a great help."

Tolar chuckled. "Yes, Lord Urthblood had insisted on that, and at the time we all wondered why. Of course, we foxes see much better in the dark than most creatures, so we deemed it no great hardship. I guess it only goes to show that none of us mere mortals should ever try to gainsay that badger's reasons, or powers of foresight. But let us tarry here no longer; I can see how tired some of your squirrels are, and you have already spoken to your hunger. We can continue our conversation once you're all more comfortably settled inside."

As they moved toward the fort's entryway, Mona asked Custis, "Did you perchance encounter a rabbit anywhere between here and the quarry, or were you approached by such a beast? A local resident of these woods agreed to run out to greet you on our behalf, but we have received no word back from him."

"A rabbit, you say? We saw no such creature. Our only encounter of note was with a pair of rat brigands, heavily armed and hiding in the undergrowth along the trail, obviously lying in wait to ambush any unwary travellers. We took care that they'll never trouble anybeast again. We scouted the vicinity to make sure they weren't part of a larger robber band, but they seemed to be alone, and we had to be on our way so we couldn't tarry to see if any others came along. But it's of no consequence; we'll soon get all of those types sorted out in good time, won't we?"

"Yes, I suppose we will," Tolar agreed with muted enthusiasm. "It's what you're here for, after all. But my immediate concern is getting you all into Foxguard - or, more specifically, your belongings. I only just noticed how high your carts are piled, and I worry that they may not fit through our gateway."

"Oh, I doubt it will pose a problem," Custis dismissed, unconcerned even as the narrow, descending passage came more fully into view before their advancing column. "Lord Urthblood designed these wagons, after all, and he knew we'd be coming here and would have to pass through your entryway."

"Ah. Just like leaving those lanterns behind at the quarry, hm?"

"Something like that. At least I certainly hope so. We already had to partly unload and reload these wagons once today, and we'd prefer to get them inside Foxguard before we have to worry about doing that again!"

Custis was proven correct ... almost. The first cart cleared the tunnel with no more than a light brush against the ceiling stones, although the wheels did scrape a few times against either wall of the constricted passage. The next wagon in line, however, became wedged as it was hauled through, its highly-piled cargo too tall for the low clearance. Custis swore and muttered and ground his teeth at this development, and he was hardly the only squirrel present to do so.

"I can't understand it! Lord Urthblood would have planned for this - he knew the dimensions of the tunnel, he knew how high our loads would be once we offloaded Captain Choock's supplies and provisions at ... oh, fur, of course!"

"Of course, what?" Tolar inquired of the frustrated Gawtrybe lieutenant.

"We're a cart short from what we should be, and all the cargo from that cart was redistributed onto the remaining wagons, making them more heavily laden than they should have been." Custis related in brief the incident of the crashed Redwall cart, and how he'd been persuaded to give up one of his own as a solution to that dilemma.

"Well, that explains that then," Tolar remarked. "I guess Lord Urthblood can't foresee everything after all. That crash of the Abbey cart certainly seems to have escaped him."

"Yes ... I wonder why that is?"

"Well, it doesn't matter now. Fortunately, it looks like you'll only need to lighten the loads just a little off the top to get your carts through. It shouldn't involve too much extra work. Would you like me to assign some of my weasels to assist you?"

"Thank you, but I think we have more than enough squirrels here to see to it. We've already spent so much time moving our cargo around, we've gotten pretty adept at it."

Mona had meanwhile taken up position on the lawns inside the entryway, not really suited to the task at paw but not wanting to retreat back indoors either, and not just for appearances of hospitality. There was another creature expected amongst this entourage, a beast neither squirrel nor fox, with whom the vixen had enjoyed a long friendship before coming down from the Northlands. And as she stood there watching the visitors and their wagons come straggling into Foxguard's courtyard one by one, there appeared the very marten in question.

Mona didn't even have to step forward to greet Trelayne. The glassmaker spotted her immediately, even in the scant light from the lanterns, and came forward to take her in a fatherly embrace. "Mona, my dear, so wonderful to see you again! It's been seasons! Hard to believe we've both been down from the north for so long, and this is the first we've been able to see each other!"

"Hardly surprising, since I've been at Redwall and Foxguard all that time, while you've been out on the coast helping Lord Urthblood with the war effort. But now that the Accord has put an end to hostilities, here you are, and long overdue, too! So, how do you like our fine fortress?"

Trelayne stepped back and looked up at the magnificent tower soaring above them against the twilight sky, but the deepening gloom made the structure hard to see. "I do so wish I could have arrived here in full daylight to appropriately appreciate its majesty up close, but I've actually been impressed by it for quite some time, and repeatedly, too. You must be aware yourself that your tower here is quite visible from Redwall, and also from the quarry, but we were treated to glorious views of it even before we reached the Abbey. Did you know it's visible from most of the Western Plains as well?"

"I've never viewed it from there, but I suppose I always just assumed it must be. It was designed to be tall enough for line-of-sight communication with Salamandastron, after all."

"Oh, yes, of course. But I must say you've done well for yourself, Mona, being installed as chief healer in so splendid a stronghold as this!"

"It will be even more splendid, I am sure, when your work here is finished. We've all heard of the marvelous glass statue of Machus that graces the slopes of Salamandastron. It is most strange that no fox of his old brigade has ever set eyes upon it, but now we will have an equal monument to our founder here where we dwell. I can't wait to see it once it is finished. Too long have I gone without seeing your artistry."

"I shall try to make the statue here every bit the equal of the one at Salamandastron. However - and I'm afraid I cannot avoid bringing up this delicate subject - but you may wish to stay well clear of my workshop until the sculpture is fully formed. It is necessary that I will be employing substantial quantities of ... "

"Yes," Mona said quickly into the trailing silence of his unfinished statement. "Tolar and I have already been over this. I will be fine, Trelayne, and thank you for your concern. In fact, as long as I know your endeavors here will be artistic and not weapons-related, I may even pay a visit or two to your workspace to witness the creative process firstpaw. I know well the destructive powers of the substances involved; it will be a pleasant change to see them used for honorable and benevolent purposes."

"Well, if you feel up to such a thing, you will always be welcome ... "

She eyed the carts slowly multiplying on Foxguard's lawn. "Is it ... in there?"

"The ingredients for distilling it, yes. The actual solution is far too hazardous to go carting about the lands. My first order of business will be to prepare a batch of it, and then move on to the glass itself. The work may take some time; I do not expect to leave Foxguard until mid-spring."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. It will be nice having you around, even if you will be too immersed in your labors to spend much time socializing. And will you really need to move on right away once the statue is done? We'd welcome you to stay for as long as you like."

"Yes, well, that will largely depend on what Lord Urthblood instructs, won't it? However, as long as the Accord holds, he may not need me back out at the coast anytime again right away. We shall see."

"In that case, I hope the Accord holds for all of spring and summer, and fall too!"

The marten patted her paw. "After all the war we have seen, my dear, I hope it holds longer than that. Much, much longer!"

Several paces away, Tolar and Custis stood discussing similar matters as they oversaw the entry of the remaining Gawtrybe wagons. "How long do you and your squirrels anticipate staying at Foxguard?" the Sword inquired.

"Two different questions, actually. My squirrels - most of them, anyway - will be off to build Gawdrey as soon as Captain Klystra or one of Lord Urthblood's other birds flies out here to guide us to to the chosen site. I expect to remain here for some time after that - perhaps most of the way toward summer - since Gawdrey will be mostly an active construction site during the early days of its inception, and hardly a fit location from which to coordinate matters of command. Foxguard will have to serve that purpose for me, until Gawdrey is ready."

Tolar raised an eyebrow at this. "Were those Lord Urthblood's orders? I was not informed of it."

"His Lordship's orders were that this campaign be fully set into motion at the earliest possible moment." Custis gave a chuckle. "Don't worry - I'm not here to usurp your authority in any way. I command the Gawtrybe, you command the swordfoxes, and working together we will bring this operation to a swift and successful conclusion. I am confident of it."

The fox's silence made Custis look to Tolar with some scrutiny. "Am I mistaken about this in some regard, Sword?"

"I was given to understand that my own role in this campaign was to be more one of support - that it would otherwise be a Gawtrybe operation. My foxes are hardly equal to the challenge of scouring the forestlands as you squirrels are."

Surprised at hearing the hint of almost distasteful reluctance in Tolar's voice, Custis shrugged it off. "Ah well - we can always seek clarification from Salamandastron if none reaches us before any questions arise. It may be that limiting yourselves to purely a support role will still prove adequate for our needs. It's not as if Lord Urthblood won't be keeping you busy with other assignments!" The squirrel's gaze went from Trelayne to the still mostly-unloaded carts. "Very busy indeed, since Foxguard is soon to become the realm of the Realm!"


	7. Chapter 36

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

That night, several of the Abbey leaders remained gathered in the Infirmary around Vanessa's bedside. In a worrisome departure from her previous swoons, the stricken Abbess had not immediately recovered from the latest episode, and was promptly borne up to the sick bay by Maura as soon as Cyril had alerted everybeast.

There she lay, even unto this late hour, resting comfortably and seemingly out of danger, but dead to the world and unresponsive to any ministrations or spoken words.

"Her breathing and her heartbeat are as they should be," Arlyn solemnly pronounced to the others, "but there's no getting around the fact that she's getting worse. After the other incidents, she was back up on her footpaws and racing around almost immediately, but now I cannot say whether she is likely to recover at all. It could be that her condition has deteriorated, and taken the kind of sudden turn for the worse that Mona always warned us might lie in store for her. It's possible she will never wake up from this."

"But she was fine this afternoon!" Cyril protested, as if arguing against the forces of nature and fate would carry any weight. "She was talking and moving around and acting just like normal - well, normal for her, I mean - and then she just keeled right over!"

Arlyn laid a gentle paw on the younger mouse's shoulder. "Now, Cyril, you know how it's been with her, ever since the winter. She'll seem so full of life one moment, and then succumb to her fainting spells in the blink of an eye, with no warning whatsoever. There's nothing you or anybeast else could have done to prevent it." He heaved a deep, mournful sigh. "It could simply be that this past winter, while hardly the worst Redwall has known, took too much out of her. I certainly felt that way at times myself, but while the coming of spring has proven a balm to my aching joints and the assorted infirmities of age, perhaps for her they provided no relief, either to her troubled spirit or her overstrained body."

"And Winokur was so sure Vanessa might be showing signs of recovery," Geoff lamented. "In a way it's good he's not here to see this. It would be sad for him to return home later this season to learn Vanessa has passed on, but at least he will have some time at the quarry to witness the excitement of its reopening and fully immerse himself in his Recorder's duties, just as he wanted."

"So you don't want to send a sparrow out to the quarry to inform them of this development?" Arlyn asked the younger Abbot. "Winokur and Monty in particular might not be pleased if they found out we kept this from them until their return, especially if the worst does come to pass."

"I know I wouldn't be," Alexander offered from the foot of the patient's bed. "Monty, Nessa and I were the closest of friends growing up, and I would not want to be kept in the dark about anything like this, were I in their place."

Geoff nodded. "Yes, I can see your point. But the simple truth is that, even if we were to send out a Sparra messenger at first light, our party might not be able to make it back to the Abbey in time. Let us wait to see what this night brings, and where things stand come morning. Vanessa has been full of surprises these past three seasons; perhaps she will surprise us all again, and defy the dire prognosis that has been given her here."

Cyril picked up on this hopeful note. "Maybe Winokur is still right. Maybe she's not coming around again right away this time because she really is getting better. We don't know for sure that she won't wake up being more like her old self, do we? Maybe this long sleep is what she needs to come back to herself - at least partway."

Arlyn favored Cyril with a benevolent, if not entirely convinced, smile. "We cannot rule that out, of course. The frustrating thing about her condition is that none of us really knows what it is, how to cure it, or what course it might take. As has often been said, and by wiser mice than I, where there's life there's hope. Let us see how she fares through this night, and cope with what the morning presents us when it arrives."

Cyril seemed less than buoyed by the elder Abbot's lukewarm optimism. "I just can't believe she could go from carrying on so, to dropping like a stone, so quickly. I mean, you and Winokur assigned me to watch over her because we were all worried about her as much as we were hoping for a positive change, and there wasn't a thing I could do to help. I feel like I failed."

Now it was Smallert's turn to pat Cyril. "There now, Cyr, you ran 'n' fetched help th' moment it happened. T'weren't naught else y' coulda done, inside the Abbey or out, with others at yer side or alone. You did all that anybeast could've expected of you."

Cyril bowed his head, uncheered. "Still, I wish I hadn't been outside with her alone. Why couldn't she've done this any of the times she was with me inside Redwall, with everybeast else around? It was stupid of me to go out for archery practice, when I knew there was a chance of something like this happening ... "

"But at least you did observe her as we asked, right up until her last waking moments, and in that sense you most certainly did discharge your responsibilities in this matter," Geoff commended Cyril. "What did you say her last words were before she lost consciousness?"

"Well, first she yelled for me to duck, so I did, not knowing whether it was because of something she was about to do, or something else she was warning me about. Then she said something about rats, and I thought we might be under attack, but there were no rats anywhere. And then she just passed out and hit the ground, like she has before during these spells. But it was scary to see it up close, with nobeast else at paw. It really was like all the life left her, went right out of her, and she was just ... gone."

Arlyn pursed his lips. "You know, Winokur mentioned that she'd also said something about rats the other day, up on the walltop. Wink gave me the impression that some of the recently-arrived former slaves were rather unsettled by the suggestion of rats at Redwall."

"That seems to be the way of things lately with Vanessa," Geoff conceded with a sigh. "She'll go out of her way to say or do upsetting things."

"Well, yes, that might be true in the case of our latest arrivals, who would understandably take a dim view of any jokes or pranks about rats," Arlyn pointed out. "But this afternoon, Cyril was outside by himself, and he harbors no undue fear of hatred of rats."

Geoff shrugged. "She still made him duck, didn't she? Nessa succeeded in provoking a response, and I deem that's all she's really interested in these days: raising a fuss, and making sure she's at the center of it."

A rare visitor to such bedside gatherings, Highwing had flown down from Warbeak Loft upon word of this latest dire episode involving his old and dear mouse friend, and now sat settled on the deep windowsill above Vanessa's pillow-propped head. "Who could have imagined such a sad state of affairs could ever come to pass. Nessa was the kindest, wisest mouse I've ever known, and her descent into childlike madness has made my heart heavy, no less so than any other creature at Redwall. And while I might wish beyond wishing that she would miraculously return to being the Vanessa of old, if this is to be nature's way of delivering her from her tragic seasons-long plight, I will not question or rail against fate's choice, as aggrieved as her absence would render me. I might even welcome such a turn of events, if it finally grants her troubled soul peace."

"Well said, old friend, and a sentiment I'm sure most of us here share, in part if not in whole. But for now, I think she should be left alone to rest, in whatever fashion and for whatever good it will do her." Arlyn motioned toward the Infirmary doorway. "Return to your own beds, to catch whatever sleep you can. Metellus and I will watch over Vanessa, and we'll be sure to alert you to any drastic turn she might take, for good or for ill."

As most of the worried Abbeybeasts reluctantly shuffled out of the chamber, Highwing held his spot on the windowsill. "If I may beg your indulgence, Abbot Arlyn, I would very much like to remain here this night. I would not normally ask such preferential treatment, but ... well, this is Vanessa we're talking about here."

"Yes, of course. I understand the special bond you share with her, having benefited from her protection and upbringing while you were but a chick. I deem an exception can be made in your case. Besides, it's dark now, and you could hardly be expected to fly back up to the roofspaces. But you don't need to stay up there on that hard sill." Arlyn patted the tight-blanketed mattress of the bed alongside Vanessa's. "Come, make yourself comfortable here, so you can be near her. Who knows? Maybe having you close to paw will provide her some solace or support, in spite of her current state."

Glady accepting the venerable mouse's invitation, Highwing hopped down from the sill and nestled onto the adjacent bed, fluffing his plumage and fidgeting his way into a cozy resting posture whilst Arlyn and Metellus dimmed the lanterns and otherwise made the Infirmary ready for the night. None of them would even think of leaving this sick bay, or their beloved former Abbess, before sunrise.

All three had drifted off to a light sleep when Vanessa stirred, murmuring with her eyes closed as if in the grip of a delirious fever dream. Arlyn, a light sleeper by both seasons and habit, promptly rose and went to her side, but a quick examination revealed no substantial change in their patient's condition, and no sign that she was likely to full awaken anytime soon.

"Well, I suppose that might be an encouraging sign," he muttered to himself between stifling yawns, "or it might not. We'll see what the rest of the night brings."

As Arlyn lay back down on his own borrowed Infirmary bed across from hers, Highwing lifted his head to regard Vanessa. The Sparra chief, roused by the murmuring and Arlyn's movements, remained awake after mouse and badger had both drifted off again, his bead-black avian eyes glinting in the scant lamplight. Vanessa began moaning again, more softly than before, and something in her tone and manner coaxed the bird from his own improvised bednest and to her side.

No sooner had he reached her than Vanessa's eyes shot open, her own glistening orbs locked on his. For the briefest moment it looked as if she might be about to engage in another of her turn-on-an-acorn reversals and spring up from between her sheets to resume her recent manic existence. But instead she lay quite still, her breathing soft and shallow, and recited a verse in a singsong whisper.

"The Seer hides the Seer

From seers gone before

But when another Seer comes

It opens wide the door ... "

And then, saying no more, she closed her eyes again and sank back into her comatose state, chest sedately rising and falling with the rhythm of life.

Highwing silently repeated her odd rhyme to himself several times in his head, imprinting the exact words upon his linguistic memory so that he would not forget them come morning. Then he clambered back up onto his own bed and stuck his head under his wing to dream the boundless dreams of flying creatures.

00000000000

It was common for the foxes and weasels who stood lookout duty atop Foxguard's tower to remain up on the observation deck for a day or two at a time, owing to the labor and inconvenience involved in getting the change of shifts from the ground to the summit and back again. Thus it was that Monda and Weel still stood watch the morning after the Gawtrybe's arrival, greeting the morning and the risen sun with the first full survey of the lands spread out below them.

"Quite a change from yisterday, ain't it, mate?" Weel remarked, taking in the green tableau of springtime Mossflower rolling away in all directions. "Just a few foggy wisps here'n' there, not that unnatural stuff hidin' ev'rything like a white blanket."

"You said it, Weel," Monda readily agreed. "This's mornin' th' way it's s'posed t' be, an' no mistake!"

"Yeah, sure is easier seein' things when ye're able t' see 'em."

"Uh, yeah. 'Cept now that all them squirrels we was expectin' 're here, there ain't much we gotta look out fer. Rest o' this shift's like t' be a snoozer."

"Ha! Better not let any of our brushtailed masters catch you snoozin' on duty, or it'll be all fer you! Wouldn't wanna be Guth or Jagro, with Tolar comin' down on 'em over not keepin' proper watch before us, lettin' that whole crew get to the quarry unseen! 'Sides, we're s'posed to be keepin' an eye out fer that bunny Mona sent out yesterday - he could be comin' back any time."

"That's what I don't unnerstand. Weren't 'ee sent out to meet up with those squirrels, an' find out what's happenin' at th' quarry? They're all here now, an' we know they came from th' quarry so there's naught amiss there either, but that bunny's nowhere in sight. Kinda defeats th' whole point o' sendin' 'im out at all, wouldn'tja say?"

"I say nuthin' - I just do what I'm told. Fer all we know, that rabbert coulda come back in under cover o' night, an' nobeast told us about it. Them brushtails never tell us anything."

"Well, t' be fair, it is kinda hard sendin' word up here 'bout anything routine. Makes sense that they'd only alert us about sumpthin' important ... an' a bunny comin' back who was expected back anyways is hardly worth the effort, eh?"

"Well, when y' put it that way ... Still, t'would be nice t' know such things. Too bad none o' Lord Urthblood's birds're here with us now. They c'n fly up 'n' down 'tween here 'n' there in a blink. We really oughta have some stationed here permanent like, just like those birds Redwall's got."

"Yeah, I know. When I was stationed at Salamandastron, Lord Urthblood used Cap'n Klystra an' Commodore Altidor an' his gulls to run messages from top to bottom of that mountain, an' that place was nowhere near as tall as this tower. Kinda ironic, me gettin' my footpaw all smashed up durin' th' war with th' searats, so's that I'd never be able t' climb stairs pain-free agin, an' then gettin' transferred to th' one place in all th' lands that's got more steps than anyplace has ever had!"

"Ayup, that's, uh, sumpthin', it is. Hey, if that bunny never did come back, y' reckon he met with some misfortune?"

Monda gazed out at the obscuring forest canopy. "If 'ee did, we'll never know it from 'ere. An' we'll not see 'im comin' back any sooner'n th' walltop sentries down below, so let's leave it to 'em. If Sword Tolar decides t' send out a search party, he'll not ask fer our counsel first, an' we'd have none t' give anyway. But if'n ye asks me, that lopears never had any intention of comin' back here ta'll. I mean, a rabbit at Foxguard? Makes about as much sense as a fish in th' desert, or moles up in a tree!"

"Aye, you could be right, mate. So, I guess fer now it's back t' what we usually do when we're up 'ere." Weel produced the long glass and began scanning Mossflower to the north. "Well, at least now that we know it was really just th' Gawtrybe an' their allies at th' quarry yissterday, an' our rabbet's either gonna come back or not as it suits 'im, looks like it's back t' normal fer us lowly ... aw, I don't berlieve it!"

"What? What is it?"

"See fer yerself." Weel passed the telescope to the other weasel. "Down at th' forest's edge nearest th' quarry."

Monda peered through the instrument in the indicated direction. "Fang, where'd _they_ all come from?!"

"Yah - an' who are they? They're headed north an' outta th' woods, away from us, an' toward th' quarry. Just opposite from what th' Gawtrybe did yestidday t' get 'ere."

"Well, that means those squirrels must know they're there, an' be okay with it. I mean, ain't no way they coulda missed each other, not two groups that big. We know th' Gawtrybe left lotsa beasts behind in th' quarry. These must be more they've been travellin' with, or know."

"Hmm. Could be, mate. Sure are a lot of 'em, tho'. Well over a hunnerd, by my mark. Can't tell if they're mice or rats or shrews ... "

"I'd guess shrews, since Lord Urthblood was s'posed t' be reassignin' all of 'em to Mossflower from what I heard tell. T'was under the impression they'd be posted on the other side o' th' river, but I may've gotten that wrong. An' those squirrels came by an unexpected route too, so may'aps things've changed. Be nice of 'em t' let us know up 'ere, but us grunts're allers th' last t' know."

"Aye, an' we sure ain't consultered with ahead o' time neither, that's fer sure." Weel took the long glass back from Monda and studied the distant scene anew. "I dunno, tho' - they look too big to be shrews t' me ... an' almost too big t' be mice ... "

"Sizes're hard t' tell from all th' way up 'ere, an' so far away," Monda observed. "Looked like they had family beasts with 'em too, so can't be a horde or nuthin' like that."

"Yah, but ... what if they are rats? Shouldn't we oughta tell somebeast? Tolar, or th' Gawtrybe?"

Monda thought about how far removed from the rest of the fortress beasts they were, and what would be involved in following Weel's suggestion. "What, you wanna raise the alarm?"

"Do you?"

Monda chewed at his lip for a few moments. "Don't really see what good it'd do. I mean, they're movin' away from us, not toward us, so it ain't like they're an approachin' threat or anything like that. An' by th' time we could alert ev'rybeast, an' a party could be raised an' sent out, they'd like as not be too far away t' be worth botherin' about anyway."

"Those squirrels can cover a lotta ground purty fast when they wanna. They got from th' quarry t' here in half a day, an' that was with their loaded carts too."

"Well, do _you_ wanna sound the alarm?"

Weel scratched at his ear in thought. "T'would be kinda awkward raisin' such a fuss an' havin' it turn out t' be nuthin' ... 'specially after callin' Tolar up 'ere yesterday over what turned out t' be our Gawtrybe allies."

"That's what I was thinkin' too. Tell ya what: Let's wait 'til our shift's over at midday, an' report it then. Leave it to th' higher-ups t' sort it all out."

Weel nodded. "Right. An' in th' meantime, we'll just keep our eyes on that lot, whoever they are, an' if they start doublin' back or look like they mean t' cause any trouble, we c'n allers raise the alarm then."

"Exactly, Weel mate. They put us up here t' watch so that's what we'll do. An' if by chance they do turn out t' be rats, well, I'd not wanna be them - not with th' Gawtrybe in Mossflower now!"

00000000000

Vanessa was found that morning in the orchard, lounging against the trunk of a budding pear tree whilst munching on some acorn crunch pilfered from the kitchens in a daring pre-dawn raid.

She'd somehow managed to slip out from beneath her bedcovers and flee the Infirmary without rousing any of her lightly-slumbering caregivers, having fully recovered her mobility if not her wits during the night. Highwing, waking as sparrows tend to at the first pale blush of dawn, was the first to notice her absence, and quickly alerted Arlyn and Metellus, who were soon thereafter rushing forth from the sick bay to commence the search for their wayward patient.

They scoured the indoor sections of the Abbey first, from the dormitory levels down to Cavern Hole and everywhere in between, including Great Hall and the kitchens (but Vanessa had already absconded from there with her munchable prize, hitting the defenseless larders while none of Friar Hugh's staff were about to dissuade her). Certain areas could be safely passed over, such as the Long Patrol tunnels, where the ever-vigilant hares could be relied upon to ensnare any runaway Abbess who ventured into their midst, but Cavern Hole presented more of a challenge, still packed as it was with the myriad of as-yet-unassigned former slaves. And while it seemed unlikely that the irritating mouse would find welcome sanctuary amongst the beasts she'd so provoked and annoyed upon prior occasions, nothing could be ruled out where Vanessa was concerned. But nobeast in the large meeting-hall-turned-open-dormitory had seen her, and so the searchers turned their attention to the grounds, first checking with the walltop sentries to see if she was up there with them.

But Vanessa had sneaked out into the orchard without attracting anybeast's notice, climbing through a storeroom window not easily seen from the battlements or the gates, and thus remained undiscovered until after the sun had risen well above the treetops, even though she'd made no undue effort to hide herself as she reclined and chomped away. Now that both the Gawtrybe and the shrews had vacated the Abbey, the orchards lay largely deserted most of the time, and Vanessa could not have chosen a better spot to hide in plain sight.

To perhaps nobeast's amazement, the stricken Abbess seemed back to her usual pre-swoon self, frivolously laughing off the concern focused upon her and chafing under Arlyn's attempts to examine her. As always, she professed no memory whatsoever of her latest fainting episode, and found the entire notion quite funny. And when the elder Abbot insisted she accompany him and Metellus back up to the Infirmary just to be on the safe side, Vanessa adroitly evaded them and Maura and several of the other Redwallers, racing across the lawns and pounding up the wallstairs to take up a position on the east ramparts, gazing off into the gloom of the morning forest.

There she stayed, stubbornly refusing to be dislodged from where she'd planted herself, even after most of the Abbey leaders and many of the squirrels on lookout duty descended upon her and surrounded her, leaving Vanessa no avenue of escape, unless she pitched herself headlong over the battlements - a possibility, given her current temperament and unpredictability, that several of Alexander's squirrels stood tensed to prevent, if she should attempt such a manic feat.

But Vanessa seemed perfectly content to hold to her spot, as long as nobeast sought to budge her from it. "Gotta stay out here today," she firmly maintained. "Greenpup's gonna have his flippers full!"

"You mean Winokur?" Arlyn asked, taking a few moments to mentally connect this new pet name of hers to the absent otter Recorder. "Why do you say that?"

"Lotsa rats!" she beamed, as if the very idea of a plethora of those unsavory rodents filled her with glee. "Lots 'n' lotsa rats!"

Geoff, who'd joined the search for the escaped Abbess early on and now stood with the others hemming her in, rolled his eyes at this. "There she goes again, with her talk of rats. It's a good thing none of the former slaves are near at paw to hear her - she's distressed them quite enough already with such nonsense."

"Ain't nonsense!" Vanessa protested. "She's comin', you'll see!"

"Oh? And just who would that be?"

Vanessa clammed up then. "Can't tell. It'sa secret."

"Yes, of course it is," Geoff ridiculed testily. "And 'ain't' is not proper language. If you're going to insist upon spouting such fibs and tall tales, you can at least use correct grammar."

Vanessa pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at Geoff to let him know what she thought of his rather sanctimonious lesson.

Maura took Arlyn aside. "Do you suppose she's in any further danger? Will it be safe to let her remain up here, or should she be carried back up to the Infirmary?"

"I honestly don't know what to say. I'm as much at a loss now as I ever was. Once again, she seems to have recovered completely, as suddenly and unexpectedly as she took ill in the first place. She's certainly recovered her appetite, to judge by the amount of acorn crunch she seems to have put away! I'd say she's more in danger of a stomach ache than anything at this point. I really thought her spell yesterday might augur something different - a definite turn for the better, or for the worse, especially when she went through most of the night without awakening. But, as you can see, she's back to her usual self, neither for better or worse - just the same, unchanged. I cannot fathom her condition at all. But for now, I see no harm in allowing her to remain here. Indeed, she seems quite adamant about doing so, and I suspect we'd cause her greater upset if we tried to remove her - and, if she's got her mind set on being up here, she'd like as not escape from our custody and head back up here anyway. As long as she doesn't strain herself or become overly excited, I suppose she'll be no worse here than anywhere else."

"I'm certainly no more qualified to second-guess you on this than anybeast else at Redwall, so I'll go by what you say. But I'll keep the children away from her, as I have been. I'll not have them subjected to her cruel whims if she turns violent and mean again."

"Yes, of course. And I'm sure Geoff will keep the newest members of our community away from her as well, what with her nattering on about rats like she is; that's the last thing any of them needs to hear. While I'm sure he'll hardly be thrilled about it, we'll have Cyril come up to continue keeping an eye on her - and this time, unlike outside the wall, he'll have Smallert to help lend a paw. In fact, I'll tell Alexander and Colonel Clewiston to make sure there are always a few extra squirrels and hares on paw in case she should become particularly unruly."

"A fine idea. If you'll excuse me, Arlyn, I have the young ones to look after." Maura turned and trundled down the wallsteps to the lawns below.

Geoff moved to follow after the Badgermum. "Hold on, Maura, I'll come with you. All this silliness has made me late for breakfast, but hopefully I can still officiate over the morning meal in Great Hall for a few of the later risers!"

As Geoff clopped along the stone steps in Maura's wake, Highwing pushed off from the crenelated battlements above, fluttering to his typical lopsided landing on the grass before the two descending creatures. "Abbot, a moment, if I may."

Geoff heaved a sigh as he dismounted from the staircase and motioned for Maura to proceed ahead of him. "This whole affair has me running behind as it is; what's a few more moments?"

"Thank you. I felt you should be aware of something Vanessa said in her sleep last night. It was right after Abbot Arlyn had checked on her, once he'd returned to his bed, so I may be the only one who heard it. As the mouse who first discovered the relationship between the old 'Sea Song' and Lord Urthblood, you should find it of particular interest."

This definitely piqued Geoff's curiosity. "Yes? Do go on."

"I was a bit of verse she recited, but some of the words were new. It went, 'The Seer hides the Seer from seers gone before - '"

"Yes, yes," Geoff impatiently cut the sparrow off, finishing the verse himself. "'Prophecy blinds prophecy, veils future evermore.' I know very well how it goes. It's not the 'Sea Song' at all, but some old verse put down at the dawn of Redwall's history, perhaps by Abbess Germaine herself. This is nothing new to me."

Highwing ruffled his feathers in mild indignation. "I think you'll find that it _is_ new, if you'd be so kind as to allow me to finish. Vanessa murmured a single verse of four lines last night, and that verse went as follows: 'The Seer hides the Seer / From seers gone before / But when another Seer comes / It opens wide the door.'"

Geoff's mouth twisted in disapproval. "Well, _that's_ not right. You must have misheard her."

The Sparra's plumage bristled a second time. "You seem to forget my species, Father Abbot. We Sparra possess ears attuned to the finest nuances of birdsong, even if they don't stick out from our heads the way yours do. And did you also forget my lifelong affinity for wordplay and language, much of it learned from Vanessa herself? My recall of both sounds and words is perfect. That is precisely what she said, and I did _not_ mishear her."

Geoff seemed split between taking umbrage at Highwing's admonishing tone and standing put in his place by the bird's assertive confidence. "Yes, well, even if your hearing and recollect is unimpeachable, the verse is still incorrect. One of you got it wrong, and if it wasn't you, then it must have been Vanessa. She must have been delirious, and didn't know what she was saying."

"I beg to differ, Abbot. I was there, and I believe she was in complete control of her words. She said exactly what she meant to say. Her eyes were even open when she spoke the verse."

"Her eyes were open? I thought you said she uttered these words in her sleep. Which is it?"

"Well, she was murmuring in her sleep, which brought me to her bedside. Once I was there, her eyes opened, and her gaze met mine, with definite intent. Call it a trance, if you wish. Either way, the fact remains that there is a new verse to the riddle, one that wasn't there before."

"Oh, now you're just reaching." Geoff stared down at Highwing over the tops of his spectacles - no easy feat, since the sparrow poised on talontips stood nearly as tall as he did. "You seem to be overlooking the fact that this 'new verse' of yours came not from one of our venerable and far-seeing founders but from Vanessa, whose mind has been so addled these past seasons that she literally doesn't know who she is. Even if she was sure in what she meant to say, consider the brain from which those words sprang, and you must agree that they surely carry as much meaning as all of her prattle about rats."

"But what if it's not just prattle?" Highwing pressed. "What if deeper meaning lies within them?"

Geoff shook his head. "Tell me again how the new lines go ... "

"'But when another Seer comes / It opens wide the door.'"

"Hmm. Yes, but you see the problem with this, don't you? Unless Vanessa herself is meant to be the second seer in question, then how could she be warning us of something that's to come? It's a classic paradox, really: This cryptic verse tells of prophetic things, but it didn't come from a prophetic beast. Indeed, it was spouted by about the farthest thing from a prophetic beast that I can possibly imagine. And thus, it amounts to nothing."

Highwing refused to concede the point. "What if Martin was trying to speak through her?"

Geoff drew back, disarmed. "Did it _sound_ like the Spirit of Martin was trying to speak through her?"

"I ... don't know. I have never heard the Spirit of Martin speak through anybeast."

"Nor have I. Nobeast alive has, and the coming of Urthblood to Redwall might well prevent that from ever happening in our lifetimes. So you see how silly that sounds? The Spirit of Martin, speaking through Vanessa of all creatures, and in the dead of night when there well might not have been anybeast to hear her."

"_I_ heard her."

"Then let this be between you and her. I see nothing to be gained by engaging in such wild speculation, or sharing it with others. And even if by some mad chance your conclusions are correct, I do not see how it will profit us, or what we could do about it. Vanessa is not even to be trusted around our young ones these days; I hardly think Martin would trust her to deliver some new prophecy to us - even if he could penetrate the otherworldly pall Urthblood has cast over this Abbey."

"Nonetheless, I would like to pursue this, Abbot."

"Then by all means pursue it, in whatever manner you see fit." Geoff turned and resumed his trek toward Great Hall. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must see to breakfast."

Watching the retreating back of the dismissive mouse, Highwing gathered himself and launched into the air in a wobbly flight back up to the walltop. If Geoff didn't care to hear this, then he'd take it upon himself to join Cyril and Smallert in keeping a close eye on Vanessa.


	8. Chapter 37

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN**

General Harth lay on his stomach alongside Grota, the late morning sun warming his dark gray fur as the two rats peered over the lip of the quarry. The former horde officer didn't like what he saw.

He'd sent scouts ahead to investigate the area, and they'd uncovered no sign of any ambush, nor even any presence of guards or sentries along the top rim of the vast rock pit. After performing a thorough reconnaissance along the quarry's entire southern perimeter, they'd reported back to their commander, who deemed it safe to proceed forward for a look of his own.

If the lands above and around the quarry seemed deserted, the same could not be said for the rock mine itself, which bustled with the activity of perhaps tenscore creatures.

"Half-mice my tail!" Harth spat as he took in the scene below. "Those're shrews, an' true battlers too, by th' look of 'em. Learned early in my seasons of horde life not t' go messin' with shrews if I could help it - more trouble than they're worth, an' like as not t' leave you with a bellyful of their steel."

"Call 'em what y' like, sir, but Lattie was right about 'em, just like she's been about ev'rything so far," Grota pointed out. "She might've used some nitwit name t' describe 'em to us, but then again, may'aps she's never even seen a shrew before, an' she had no other word t' relate what her visions were showin' her. Either way, there they are, right down amongst th' rocks, jus' like she said they'd be."

"Which means that Greenpup of hers must be somewhere down there too. I'm seein' otters an' moles movin' about 'mongst those shrews - no more o' those accursed squirrels though, thank th' fates - so now I guess we're s'posed to head down an' find that greenbeast fer ourselves."

"How're we gonna do that, Gen'ral sir?"

Harth glanced to their left. "Lucky fer us, looks like somebeast went an' built a nice big convenient ramp fer just that purpose."

"Naw, I meant with all them fierce shrews about? There's way too many fer our remainin' archers t' take out - they'd all scatter an' disappear inta those caves, 'fore we could slay even a tenth of 'em."

"Somethin' tells me, Grote, that if we spill the blood of even one beast among 'em, our cause will be lost. Lattie said we hadta come to this place, an' now that we have, it won't be force o' numbers or strength of arms that wins the day." Harth lay silent for a few moments, contemplating. "That's why I'm goin' down t' treat with 'em. Alone, while you an' th' rest stay up here."

"But, sir! Them hostile shrews'll slay you on sight!"

Harth grimaced. "That's exactly what I plan on _not_ happenin'. We know Lattie guided us to this spot fer a reason. Those could be Redwallers down yonder, or allies of Redwall. An' my gut's tellin' me the only way we're gettin' to that Abbey is through 'em - an' it'll be words that do th' trick, not blades or arrows. We gotta parlay with 'em. No other choice."

"Then ... then send me down first!" Grota volunteered. "We can't afford t' lose you if th' fur hits th' fire!"

Harth shook his head once in a clear gesture that brooked all further argument. "If this goes bad, naught else'll matter. Assumin' we can stay their sword paws at all, they'll only give us precious few words to state our case, so they've gotta be th' right words. They'll not waste time with a lackey or underling; we'll be negotiatin' fer keeps right from our very first exchange, an' that means it's gotta be me." He allowed a sly grin to creep onto his features. "'Course, we do have ourselves our secret weapon!"

Grota grinned in unison. "Yeah, they ain't likely to attack us with a bunny leadin' th' way!"

"Have him brought forward. An' fetch Lattie an' her pa too. That should be all I'll need to make my case - don't wanna risk any more'n four, an' with one bein' an unthreatening female, one an oldster, an' one a rabbit, I'm hopin' they'll let us get close enuff fer some meanin'ful banter. Oh, an' one other thing I want you t' see to while I'm gone, Grote ... "

"What is it, Gen'ral sir?"

"Just that. We might be travellin' with some o' these beasts th' rest of the way to Redwall, if we can state our case an' win them to our cause. I want you to spread word to all fightin' rats not to address me or refer to me as 'General' anymore, especially if these woodlanders might hear. We can't disguise th' fact that we've got armed fighters amongst us, but mebbe, just mebbe, we can hide that we were ever part of a horde. We got enuff family rats here t' make us look more like a settlement on th' move than an army, an' I wager anybeast down there would be much more likely t' guide us to Redwall if they think we're refugees than if they suspect we're an army."

00000000000

"Looks like we got company, Skip - an' of the exact wrong sort too."

As discreet as Harth and his scouts may have thought themselves, their stealthy presence did not go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed Guosim down on the quarry floor - or by the shrews' otter companions either.

"Aye, I'd say yore right, Log matey," Montybank concurred, standing at the smaller creature's side as both directed their gazes upward, scanning the top rim for signs of the intruders. "How many y' reckon there are?"

"Hard t' gauge from down here. If it's just a small robber band, we got naught t' worry 'bout. We Guosim're well known hereabouts, even on this side of the Moss, so they'd know better'n t' cause us any grief. A larger band of a score or two might feel more audacious an' risk an attack, if they thought it'd profit 'em any. We'd still clean up this pit with 'em, but we might take casualties too - 'specially if they got slingers or bowbeasts in their ranks."

Monty caught the undercurrent of concern in Log-a-Log's tone. "But yore worried there may be more'n that?"

"Yah, I am. Th' way they been scopin' us out, from all sides - ain't sumpthin' a mere robber band does. Too methodical, too practiced. They're showin' real military tactics an' discipline. Idle sightseers an' troublemakers wouldn't recon like they're doin'. I'm guessin' it's a big force, an' they ain't droppin' by fer tea 'n' crumpets, or makin' daisy chains." The shrew chieftain ground his teeth. "I was so happy 'n' relieved gettin' th' rest of my lads here from th' river yesterday after that fog lifted, I didn't even think about postin' any watches up topside - figgered no sane beasts would tangle with our full force of tenscore Guosim plus you waterdogs b'sides. Guess I was remiss; I've tramped an' sailed through these lands enuff t' know that things like this ought never be taken fer granted."

"Then we're both to blame, matey, 'cos t'weren't none of my otters up there neither. But where'd they come from, that's what I wanna know. Those Gawtrybe who marched outta here yesterday oughta have been enuff t' clear any bothersome vermin outta this stretch of Mossflower. How could they've missed a whole horde right on our doorstep?"

"Mebbe their passage was what got this mob riled up, an' drew us to their attention. Could be they even attacked that squirrel caravan - we can't even know fer certain, standin' here, that Custis ever made it to Foxguard."

Monty looked askance at Log-a-Log. "Be serious, Log - this's the Gawtrybe we're talkin' 'bout here. If they'd been ambushed, they'd not have left a single one of their attackers alive. T'would take a bigger horde than any Mossflower's ever seen to've overcome all those grim 'n' nimble archerbeasts. Once they took to the trees, I doubt there's any force in all th' lands that coulda bested 'em."

"May'aps, but standin' here speculatin' ain't gonna let us know one way or the other. Too bad we got no way of signallin' Foxguard - gettin' those Gawtrybe back 'ere, with a few of their fox friends t' boot, would make me feel a whole lot better."

"True. But we're on our own now, an' - uh oh, looks like trouble's decided t' go an' show itself!"

All along the top of the quarry, their clandestine observers had finally deigned to reveal themselves. Dozens of armed creatures, seemingly all rats, rose up into view and took up positions overlooking the pit. The faces of shrew and otter darkened as they took in this development.

"Looks like they came t' dance," Log-a-Log growled. "I see enuff bows, spears an' blades up there t' do us some real hurt. Let's get all these moles back inside those caves, in case this comes down to an all-out melee. This's work fer shrews 'n' otters, not peaceable diggin' beasts."

"Right you are, Log matey. An' I'll make shore Wink stays in with 'em - Redwall can't risk losin' her otter Skipper an' Recorder both."

"If shafts 'n' spears start rainin' down on us, we'll all be fallin' back inta those caverns. They got th' high ground, an' they ain't bashful 'bout lettin' us know they got the upper paw fer now. Wish we'd scouted out those tunnels an' passages a bit more fully - t'would be encouragin' to have some escape routes mapped out, in case they aim t' bottle us up in there."

"All the more reason to make our stand out here if'n we can, an' not allow ourselves to be put under siege." Monty dispatched two of his otters to oversee escorting all the moles into their rocky subterranean shelter, then hefted his javelin and squarely planted his footpaws to display his resolve to their perceived foe. "This tempered steel feels good in me paw, but I'd almost trade if fer a solid shield right about now."

"I hear ya, Skip, I hear ya. At least we've got a fewscore capable slingers on paw 'tween yer crew an' mine, an' no shortage of ammunition down in these rock-strewn wastes. Reckon we could take out more'n a few of 'em right from where we stand, if they don't have th' sense to duck down if battle breaks out." Log-a-Log lazily whirled his loaded sling, leaving his shortsword in its sheath at his waist for the moment. Glancing aside at his companion's much large sheathed blade, he ventured, "If things get really hairy, we've got th' Sword of Martin t' rely on. No goodbeast wieldin' that has ever been defeated, I'd wager."

"Oh, that?" Monty patted the red pommel stone-adorned hilt with his free paw. "Y' know, half th' time I honestly forget I'm wearin' it. I 'spect Geoff sent it off with me as much t' keep it outta Nessa's clutches as fer our own use. Don't know as that I'd ever feel right brandishin' it in a fight, but yore right, Log - 'tis a potent talisman, an' symbol of good triumphin' over evil. Makes me feel better, knowin' it's there hangin' at my side."

"Hey, look up there, at th' top of the ramp! Looks like somebeast's gettin' ready to come down 'ere."

Monty followed the shrew's gaze. "Looks like yore right, matey. Small party, by th' look of it. At least they ain't attackin' in force. That's a break I'll take."

"Yah, but enjoy it while it lasts. Prob'ly sendin' one o' their lackeys down t' issue terms o' surrender. I hear that's what vermin do when there's enuff of 'em to form into a horde - not that any horde's ever been fool enuff t' demand surrender from us Guosim!"

"Well, they'll not get it today either, from you or from me ... although mebbe if we can get 'em talkin' in circles, it might buy us some time. We gotta hear 'em out, an' see if we can turn this to our advantage through words 'fore we turn to our steel."

Log-a-Log gave Monty a lingering, studious glance. "If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think I was lissenin' to Wink speaking just now, not you."

"I'll take that as a compliment. There's a lot of wisdom in that young pup. We could all stand t' learn a thing or three from him. Wink may even be Abbot someday ... " Montybank nervously eyed the ridgetop, and the rats arrayed there. "If we all make it outta this alive, that is"

00000000000

Up above, Harth pushed Tibball out onto the broad downward-sloping stone causeway. Brandishing a sharp dagger, he warned the rabbit, "I'm gonna cut yer bonds now, then ye're gonna lead th' way down ahead of us. An' if you've got any notion in yer head about makin' a run fer it, just remember all my armed friends I've got waitin' up here."

As the blade sliced through the ropes and Tibball brought his now-freed paws out from behind his back to flex them and return some circulation to those tingling extremities, he replied, "I wouldn't have made a run for it even if you'd released me long before this. I've already told you, I'm going with you to Redwall."

"Don't grow too big fer yer britches there, bunny. I'll decide who travels with us an' who doesn't."

"Oh, really?" Tibball was not feeling easily cowed; his recent time spent amongst foxes and weasels had left him less inclined to intimidation by so-called vermin, and emboldened to speak his mind to them. "Well, it occurs to me that those beasts down there will be the ones to decide whether YOU even make it to Redwall, and you need me to help convince them you're not the sorts to slit a beast's throat in his sleep. And furthermore, the ratmaid who seems to be leading your merry little parade says it's better for you if you take me to Redwall. So you'd better treat me with a little more respect, if you know what's good for you."

Latura, who'd come up behind the two of them along with her father Patreese, grinned at this display of cheekiness. "I like that bunny! Wot's 'is name again?"

Not quite so amused himself, Harth gave Tibball a light shove between the shoulder blades to start him forward. "Less brashness from you, flopears. Now get movin'!"

And thus did the three rats and one rabbit start down the long ramp with a mix of, on their various parts, eagerness, anticipation, leeriness, alertness and cluelessness, uncertain what the coming encounter might hold for any of them.

00000000000

"Is that ... a rabbit leadin' th' way?"

Monty shared Log-a-Log's incredulity. "Aye, it appears so. An' none o' them rats behind him look t' be armed. Not exactly the surrender delegation we were expectin' ... "

"Mebbe not ... " The shrew chieftain's gaze went back to the obviously-armed rats lining the quarry rim. "But those up there ain't plannin' t' play friendly by th' look of 'em, no matter what these negotiations're all about. Stay sharp, Skip - this could still turn ugly in th' blink of an eye."

Montybank and Log-a-Log advanced toward the foot of the ramp, ready to receive the four approaching creatures and listen to what they had to say, while the other shrews and otters stood at the ready with blades and slings.

The rabbit stepped off the bottom of the ramp onto the quarry floor and strode right up to the two commander beasts. "Um, hullo there. My name's Tibball, and I'm taking the fact that we're all still alive as a hopeful sign. These rats here would like to speak with you about an important matter, if you'd so kindly agree."

Log-a-Log needed no more than that to take up a confrontational tack. "We'll parlay with nobeast while we're under threat of arms! Withdraw those rats from the top of th' quarry, an then mebbe - mebbe! - we'll consider speakin' with ye!"

The younger and more hale of the two male rats - not to mention the more finely dressed - raised an eyebrow at this demand. "Oh, sure, I'll just trudge all th' way back up, tell 'em to fall back, then plod back down here t' put myself at yer mercy." His calculating gaze shifted to Monty, as if searching out somebeast more accommodating. "The four of us came down here unarmed, to talk in good faith. My rats won't cause harm t' anybeast, long as nobeast causes harm to us."

The Redwall otter hesitated to undermine the united front he and Log-a-Log presented. "You may not be armed, but yore goons up there shore are. As my pal here says, we'll not talk under that kind 'o threat. If yore genuine about comin' here in peace, y' got a funny way o' showin' it."

The rat's gaze returned to Log-a-Log, and no mirth shone in his eye. "Ye'll forgive me fer bein' blunt 'ere, but we've heard about shrews, an' we weren't takin' any chances."

Log-a-Log drew himself up. "If shrews bother you so much, mebbe y' shoulda just kept movin' along, an' not shown yer ugly mugs to us t'all. This's our quarry, we're reopenin' it fer our own needs, an' you ain't welcome 'ere!"

"Got no interest in yer quarry, friend, so rest easy there. Matter of fact, we plan on movin' on soon as we may."

"Then what're ya even here for? Whatcher want from us?"

"We were told t' come here." The spokesrat looked to his female companion, a young waif who radiated neither menace nor any particular astuteness, and stood casting about her as if searching for something. "It's kinda hard to explain ... "

"Ye'll not get yer chance fer explainin' anything, long as you've got us half-ambushed," Monty pressed. "You wanna show us good faith? Pull back yore rats up topside, an' then you can explain at yore leisure." He nodded toward Tibball. "An' if goin' back up there's too hard a slog fer ye, I bet this bunny o' yores could hoof it up an' back down again in a trice. You wanna talk, those are our terms."

The lead rat still resisted. "Once my guards disengage, what's to stop you from takin' us hostage or slayin' us with nobeast t' stop you?"

"I very much doubt you'da traipsed down 'ere in the first place if you were really worried 'bout that happening," Monty surmised.

The head rat deliberated with himself for many long moments, clearly demonstrating that he didn't hold any of the other three members of his party worthy of consultation. At last he turned to Tibball with a grudging nod. "Go tell Grota t' pull ev'ryrat back, an' have 'em wait on my word."

"Um, yes, uh, sir, uh ... " Tibball started to salute, then thought better of it, and shot off up the rampway, showing that he could indeed cover such distances far more speedily than any rat.

"An' while we're waitin' on him," Monty continued, "let's make shore yore harmless as y' claim - a lesson I learnt to my regret from a louse of a shrew called Snoga. Lift yore arms an' turn all th' way around, slow-like."

Setting his jaw, the rat did as ordered. "Gonna pat me down while ye're at it?" he sneered.

"Not a bad idea. Bayoon, check this rat fer hidden arms. I'm shore he'll show th' good sense to hold still an' not make any sudden moves." While the rat gritted his teeth, Bayoon stepped forward and ran his paws lightly but surely over the rodent's tunic, from collar to belt.

A few paces away, the female rat began to just wander off, as if everything else going on around her was of no personal concern. "Hey, where d'ya think ye're goin'?" Log-a-Log- barked at her.

"Gotta find 'im," she replied in a preoccupied tone. "Gotta be 'ere somewheres ... "

"Lattie, get back 'ere an' don't go causin' any fuss!" the older male rat called out with fatherly concern. "These beasts ain't in any mood fer it!"

Another shrew stepped forward to block the ratmaid's way. "That's far enuff there!"

Her eyes widened as she stared down at him, as if noticing him for the first time. "Ooo, half-mousie!" she all but squeed, reaching out and rubbing him playfully between the ears. The shrew stood momentarily flabbergasted at this unanticipated display, then batted her arm away in ill temper.

"Hey! Paws t' yerself!"

She gazed idly down at her pawtips. "Ye're spikier than I 'magined. Grumpier, too."

Monty couldn't help but crack a half-smile over this out-of-place levity, although his divided attention hardly kept him from paying proper heed to Bayoon's inspection of the rat leader. Satisfied that the rodent was unarmed, Bayoon turned to the others and declared, "This one's clean. Any blade he's hidin' must be so small it'd barely prick through th' fur or draw blood."

"Do the other one too," Log-a-Log ordered. "Just 'cos 'ee's old don't mean he couldn't be treacherous."

The elder rat showed no more enthusiasm about being subjected to such inspection than his younger counterpart, although he bore the indignity with stoic silence while the ratmaid he'd called Lattie was escorted back to his side with an air of petulance, as if her fun outing had been spoiled by all these sourfaced beasts. By the time all was deemed safe by Bayoon, the tension of the situation eased further with the visible retreat of the armed rats topside as they all pulled back from the quarry ridgetop.

"See? My rats lissen t' me."

Log-a-Log, clearly unimpressed, made a mocking face. "Yah, ye've whipped 'em inta obedience, that's fer certain. Right ol' horde y' got there."

"We ain't a horde."

"No? Coulda fooled me."

"Sure, we got defenders 'mongst us," the rat went on, "but fer ev'ry fighter you just saw up there, we got twice that many ratwives, young ones an' oldsters. Ye're more'n welcome t' go on up an' see fer yerselves, if you don't believe me."

Log-a-Log scowled. "Oh, ye'd love that wouldn'tcher? Lurin' us up inta an ambush, mebbe takin' some of us hostage ... "

The rat looked the shrew chieftain squarely in the eye. "Not likely t' happen, long as ye're holdin' us hostage down 'ere, remember?"

"Except you ain't hostages - ye're free t' go anytime you like. Yer rabble topside's holdin' us hostage more'n we are you."

"Just offerin', friend. It's an open offer fer you to accept or not, as it pleases you. But I'm thinkin' you'll want to, once you hear us out."

"Don't hold yer breath. An' what's th' deal with that bunny? Seems t' be the only non-rat amongst you lot. What is he, a slave you forced inta service?"

"Did he look like a slave to you?" the rat challenged.

"Actually, he didn't," Monty quickly cut in before Log-a-Log could antagonize the rat further. "Tho', that still begs the question ... "

"He's just some harebrained rabbit who fell in with us along th' way. We mutually agreed it'd be in our mutual interests to travel together fer awhile - as you can surely tell by how cooperative he's bein'."

Monty eyed the ramp, down which Tibball now sped again, clearly without hesitation at putting himself in the middle of this standoff once more. "Yeah, don't reckon any rat could force such willingness upon a woodlander as I'm seein' now, so I'll grant you that one - although I'm still mighty keen on hearin' his tale from his own lips. So, if we're gonna keep up this banterin' back 'n' forth, names might be helpful. Yore rabbit friend introduced 'imself right up front, but I don't seem t' recall you followin' through on that courtesy yoreself."

"My name's Harth. As the most experienced fighter in our present company, every rat here looks to me fer leadership. This maid here's Latura, an' this's her pa Patreese."

"Well, that's more like it, ain't it? This pugnacious but stalwart ally o' mine here's Log-a-Log, chieftain of the Guosim shrews o' Mossflower, an' nobeast you wanna be on th' bad side of. As fer me, I'm Montybank, Skipper of Redwall Abbey's otters. Now, what brings you here, if it ain't to cause trouble?"

Harth's eyes widened slightly. "A Redwaller ... I knew it!"

"See, toldjer!" Latura teased Harth. "Toldja toldja toldja!"

Tibball rejoined the scene then, drawing up alongside the three rats, huffing and puffing from his run. "So, are we finally being civilized toward each other?" he panted.

"We're gettin' there," said Monty, growing more relaxed with the withdrawal of the rat fighters above and the return of the rabbit. "But we still got a whole lot o' questions, startin' with some fer you. We're all wonderin' - "

"_GREENPUP_!" Before anybeast could stop her, Latura broke from the others and dashed in toward the center of the quarry, deftly avoiding any shrew or otter who might have had half a mind to stop her. Monty and Log-a-Log turned, and saw to their surprise that Winokur had emerged from the safety of the cave and was striding toward them. The younger otter hesitated upon spotting the ratmaid madly rushing his way, shouting out a recently-coined nickname she couldn't possibly have known, but the sheer joy on Latura's face totally disarmed him, and so he made no move to ward her off as she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso with unbridled enthusiasm and attaching herself to him in a clinging embrace.

"Greenpup! Knew you'd be here!"

Harth gave Monty and Log-a-Log a wry grin. "Looks like we just found what we came here for!"

"Did she just call him 'Greenpup?'" Monty asked Harth, not trusting his own ears.

"That she did. Lattie's been natterin' on about this 'Greenpup' of hers almost from th' time she fell in with us. She's been guidin' us all th' way here just t' find him. Reckon 'ee's s'posed to help us, some way or other, tho' Lattie's never laid out exactly how."

Monty decisively motioned to his companions. "Bayoon matey, take half a dozen of our crew with you up that ramp an' check out what this rat's told us about there bein' mostly family beasts up there - tho' truth t' tell, after what these lugs o' mine just heard I'm half-thinkin' we don't even hafta verify it."

As they turned to obey, Log-a-Log was left staring at his old friend as if the otter had grown three rudders. "Wotcher doin', Skip matey? You could be sendin' faithful crewbeasts inta harm's way!"

"I don't think so. Ain't but one beast who's ever called Wink 'Greenpup,' an' we both know who that is - an' I wager it's no mouse these travellers ever coulda met, or even heard tell of. Sumpthin's goin' on here, sumpthin' that begs deeper explainin', an' I aim t' get the answers if'n I can. An' that means talkin' to these rats, whether that idea thrills us or no."

Harth allowed himself a broad smile, intending it to be genuine but coming across to the woodlanders as a display of fangy arrogance. "Now ain't that what I been askin' for all along?"


	9. Chapter 38

**CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT**

"I'm sorry, Skip. I know you ordered me to stay inside, but when I saw that these were all rats who'd come upon us, I couldn't help but think of everything Vanessa's been saying lately about rats at Redwall. And when I saw a rabbit willingly travelling with them, and saw their main force pull back from atop the quarry, I felt I simply had to come out to discover for myself what was going on."

"It's awright, Wink - all's turned out well, an' no harm done. In all honesty, I s'pect yore the only one of us here who's got any real hope o' gettin' this whole thing sorted out an' figgerin' out what it all means, 'cos I hafta admit, it's all beyond me."

They sat in a circle within the main cavern, basking in the glow from a quartet of work lamps brought forward to augment the scant daylight finding its way into the subterranean chamber through the tunnel entrance. Harth, Patreese and Tibball sat on one side, facing Montybank, Log-a-Log and Foremole. Winokur occupied a middle ground of sorts, with Latura at his side; the simple ratmaid seemed infatuated with the otter Recorder, and had not strayed far from him since their first collisive meeting outside in the quarry. Even now she nestled close to him, as if afraid they might become separated and never find each other again.

Monty turned to the chief rat. "So, Harth, ye've got yore chance t' be heard. Tell us what brings you here, an' why this plain maid knows things she couldn't possibly know. We're all ears."

"I'm really just th' muscle of our company. Now that we've got yer attention, I'm thinkin' maybe it'd be best if I just clam up an' let these two do all th' talkin'." Harth waved a paw at Patreese and Latura. "This's really their story; th' rest of us're just along for the ride."

"What about you, Tibball?" Monty asked in surprise. "I'da thought yore story would be more int'restin' than anybeast's. I mean, a rabbit like you, in with all these rats ... "

"My life was actually pretty boring, up until these past couple of days," Tibball volunteered. "I'll gladly answer any questions you put to me, although I daresay the Gen- uh, I mean, Mister Harth here - is right. I'm along for the ride as much as anybeast."

This seemed to satisfy Monty. He looked to Patreese. "So, what is this tale of yores?"

"My daughter, Lattie ... y' see, she sees things," the rat patriarch began. "She knows things, as you put it, that she's got no way o' knowin' - like that Greenpup name fer this otter monk 'ere, or even that we'd hafta come 'ere t' find 'im. Dunno how, but she does. Had this ability all her life, but in recent seasons, it's gotten stronger. Well, late this past winter, she had a vision, or whatever it is she has, one that brought 'er clear outta herself. I was there; I saw it. Wasn't even speakin' with her own voice. An' when I heard what she hadta say, I knew I hadta do what she told me to."

The Abbeybeasts and Log-a-Log leaned forward on their boulder seats, curiosity thoroughly piqued. "An' what was it she saw?" the otter Skipper probed.

"Bad times comin' fer us rats. Some kinda great catastrophe, worse'n anything that's ever befallen ratkind b'fore. By summer's end, there'll not be a single rat left in all o' Mossflower. The only safe place fer us'll be Redwall Abbey."

Log-a-Log nearly jumped up off of his resting rock at the implications in Patreese's closing statement. "What?! You think ye're all goin' t' Redwall?!"

Patreese nodded, hardly encouraged by the shrew's incredulous reaction. "That's where we're headed. Have been, since late winter."

"Well, then you c'n all just turn around an' head back th' way you came. What made you think we'd let any o' you stinkin' vermin anywhere near that fine place?"

Harth and Patreese opened their mouths to formulate responses, while Tibball sat stunned by the shrew's undisguised hostility. Winokur and Foremole squirmed uneasily at the suddenly-heightened air of confrontation, and even the normally-stolid Montybank showed obvious discomfort over his old friend's outburst. But it was Latura out of all of them who replied first to Log-a-Log's belligerent question.

"'Cos that's what happens."

Everybeast looked at her. "It ain't happenin'!" Log-a-Log insisted in his bellicose manner. "An' if you think it is, you got another thing comin'!"

"Now ye're just bein' silly," Latura told him matter-of-factly, refusing to be goaded by his provocative bearing, if she even noticed it at all. "Sayin' sumpthin' ain't gonna happen, when it's what happens. Silly half-mousie!"

"An' stop callin' me half-mousie!"

Harth gave a bemused and knowing grimace. "Welcome t' my world," he muttered.

Log-a-Log turned to the Redwallers. "How c'n we take seriously anything these rats're sayin'? This whelp's clearly touched in th' head - addled in th' brain! Just 'cos a whole troop o' rats have bought inta this foolishness don't mean we hafta. Crisis? Catastrophe? I don't berlieve a word of it - exceptin' fer the obvious fact that it'd be a real catastrophe fer Redwall, if all these barbarians show up there!"

"Lissen up, shrew," Harth said, displaying the umbrage Latura was incapable of feeling or showing, "you can say anything about me y' like, an' right to my face too, an' it won't bother me a whit. But Lattie, 'ere, she ain't no fake. I seen it too, just like her pa, an' then some. I just came from a place where our old boss had 'imself a seer vixen, an' she was as phony as you could get - as I s'pect all Seer vixens are - painting up her face to try'n look all mystical, rollin' bones 'n' stones an' castin' runes an' looking for portents in sky 'n' earth 'n' water, spouting off whatever inane gobbledygook she thought would help her keep her privileged position. Pers'nally, I don't think I ever supposed there might be such a thing as a real, genuine seer, until fate went an' dropped Lattie inta our midst. After seein' what she's capable of, I'm inclined t' berlieve whatever she's got t' say - an' follow her lead wherever it takes us."

"You'll pardon our skepticism," Winokur said to the rats, "but we've actually had some experience in recent seasons with heavily-fated creatures coming to us with warnings of dire future calamities. We don't discount such claims out-of-paw - indeed, the spirit of our founder Martin the Warrior has watched over Redwall for countless seasons, and we have ample evidence of this, so we appreciate that there is more to this world than can be seen with the eye, heard by the ear or touched with the paw - or perhaps that there lies another world beyond this one. But it would aid your cause if you could describe more fully just what disaster Lattie foresees."

He turned to the ratmaid beside him. "What is it you've seen? How can it be that all rats are gone from Mossflower by summer's end?"

"T'would be an improvement, if y' asks me," Log-a-Log grumbled under his breath, drawing baleful glares from Harth and Patreese.

"Whole forest turns red," Latura said to Winokur. "Mossflower turns red. All rats go away."

"Red?" Wink echoed. "A forest fire?"

Harth shook his head. "We been over that ourselves. Can't be a fire, since it'll only affect rats, from what Lattie says - no other creatures. Only thing I can figger is some kind o' plague's coming, one that's fatal to rats especially, an' leaves not a one of us alive in its wake. It would also explain why Redwall's our only safe haven: You've got skilled healerbeasts there, ones with th' lore to save us. Nuthin' else makes sense t' me."

Winokur looked to Latura again. "Is this what you've seen? An outbreak of some sort, that leaves none of Mossflower's rats alive?"

She leaned against him. "I ain't really stinky, am I?"

Winokur wrinkled his nose in spite of himself. "To be perfectly honest, I have smelled fresher flowers, to borrow one of Skip's favorite phrases."

"Aw, but I bathe regular-like! Twice a season, at least!"

"Um, yes ... " As politely as he could, Wink put a paw to her shoulder and gently but firmly leaned her away from him again.

"She's kinda cagey on specifics, as you can see," said Harth. "But if her message is vague in some ways, it's clear as crystal in others. Any rat who's not inside Redwall soon ain't gonna be around much longer."

"Are we really even gonna consider this?!" Log-a-Log spat. "These're rats we're talkin' 'bout - a whole host o' rats, bein' let inside th' one place they least belong!"

"A whole host o' rats, p'raps," Monty agreed, "but at least half of 'em's family beasts - we went up an' checked on that ourselves. If this comin' plague, or whatever it is, turns out t' be even half as bad as Lattie sez, can Redwall really turn away family beasts who'd perish otherwise?"

Log-a-Log gave a resigned shrug. "Have it yer way, then. Ye're Redwall's otter Skipper, an' one of 'er chief defenders. We Guosim just winter there." He gave Harth a cold glare. "But I'll tell ya this, rat: If you do go on to Redwall, it'll only be under the armed escort of my entire company o' Guosim, who'll be at yer side ev'ry step of th' way. An' speakin' of steps, yer gang ain't takin' one more step closer to that Abbey unless you surrender ev'ry one o' yer weapons to us. You'll not need 'em at Redwall, 'specially if ye're th' harmless sanctuary-seekers y' claim t' be."

A stern, uncompromising expression hardened Harth's features. "That ain't gonna happen, friend, an' I'll tell you why. On our way here yesterday, we had a brush with some brushtails, an' now two of my best rats are lyin' dead back there along the forest trail. Just so happens those murder-minded treeleapers were headin' south with their carts from this direction. Don't s'pose you know anything about 'em?"

Monty and Winokur both stiffened at this news, and Foremole too looked equally stricken, although Log-a-Log seemed largely unaffected. "Aye, we know 'em," the otter Skipper admitted.

Harth arched an eyebrow. "Well, if that's how Redwall squirrels greet rats they meet along th' way - shooting on sight with no words exchanged - can you really blame us fer our show of force we put on earlier? Thought we might run inta the same kinda hostility here." His gaze slipped to Log-a-Log. "From ev'erybeast, I mean - not just a few."

"Nay, those squirrels ain't Redwallers," Monty explained. "Not even what you could call proper allies, tho' they did help us out in a pinch, an' were welcomed as guests of our Abbey 'fore journeying with us here. They're called th' Gawtrybe, an' I can believe they'd shoot first an' ask questions later 'pon seein' so many rats on th' move through Mossflower. They come from th' Northlands, where harsh conditions made 'em stern an' unforgiving warriors. An' given their skill with their bows, I'd say yore lucky to've walked away from that clash with only two o' yore party slain."

"What're they doin' down here, if they're from way up north?" Harth questioned.

"They serve the Badger Lord Urthblood, who rules the mountain fortress of Salamandastron on the shores of the Western Sea," Winokur said. "They helped him tame much of the Northlands, and now he's dispatched tenscore of them here to help bolster the security of Mossflower as well. They were on their way to Foxguard - that big tower just to the south of here - where they'll be temporarily stationed until they can establish a separate stronghold of their own elsewhere in Mossflower."

This clearly confused Harth, who still thought of Foxguard as the target to be taken by Krayne's horde. "Wait, they're all squirrels, ain't they? Why'd they be goin' to a fox place?"

"Because Foxguard is Urthblood's too, conceived and built by that badger's forces. The swordfoxes there - one of whom happens to be a very close friend of mine - are one of Urthblood's elite brigades, and aided his cause in the Northlands every bit as much as the Gawtrybe did."

Patreese sat wide-eyed and incredulous at this, while Harth merely shook his head. "Foxes 'n' squirrels workin' together as allies - who'da berlieved it? No wonder Lattie insisted we give that place a wide berth, what with those warrior squirrels headin' there. She musta known."

Latura hugged her knees to her chest. "Too much red," she moaned softly. "Too much red ev'rywhere ... "

"You'd be surprised what that badger's done," Monty told Harth. "He's got all manner o' woodlanders servin' under arms, but also foxes, weasels, ferrets, stoats - even a squadron o' seagulls, out along th' coast! An' ye'll be int'rested t' know, he's also got a lot o' rats in his army too."

"Rats?" Harth repeated. "If he's got rats servin' him, why're his squirrels goin' 'round slayin' rats on sight?"

"Well, that's plain enuff, ain't it?" Log-a-Log jumped in. "Clearly, you musta done sumpthin' to provoke 'em. Mebbe a show o' force that didn't work out as well fer you with 'em as it did with us here. They'd not o' struck first unless you gave 'em cause to."

Harth eyed the shrew coldly. "You weren't there, so ye're to be fergiven fer not knowin' what ye're talkin' about. I was, so I know better. Lattie gave us a warnin' shout, which gave us time to back up along a side trail an' hide ourselves there 'neath a rock overhang - again, she sensed 'em comin' before any ordinary beast coulda seen or heard 'em. I left two scouts at the head of the trail to serve as lookouts, an' that's right where I found their corpses after the danger had passed, shafts in their vitals. They'd clearly not stirred themselves to retreat or attack, an' they were experienced enuff t' know not to break cover or announce themselves in the face of such overwhelmin' superiority. They'd not had time to so much as put a paw to their weapons. They were struck down where they sat, by eyes that never shoulda been able t' see 'em in the first place. They were slain in cold blood, by creatures who didn't value a rat's life as worth spit. And those ain't creatures I ever wanna cross paths with again, if I can help it."

"Should be safe," Latura said to this. "Bad red went south, won't be back again soon, but we gotta move on. Th' one warrior tried to turn us 'round an' get us lost, almost led us inta a trap, but the other warrior cleared th' fog, let me see 'em comin'. Saw 'em just in time ... "

"The fog?" Monty asked. "What's any o' this got t' do with that fog we 'ad? An' what warrior are you talkin' 'bout?"

Latura looked him in the eye. "Th' one who crashed yer cart, o' course."

"This is getting uncanny," Winokur breathed, staring at the ratmaid with renewed respect.

Monty was not so quick to accept everything Latura said at face value. "Nay, t'was bumble-pawed cart-wranglin' that crashed our cart, an' I can name the two waterdogs responsible too. Tho' the fact you knew there even was a crash in th' first place speaks t' yore ability t' see distant things, so color me impressed on that score."

Log-a-Log sniffed. "If'n y' ask me, the only fog she's talkin' about is th' stuff muddlin' up 'n' befuddlin' her mind. An' why, if y' had a rabbit marchin' with ya, didja feel it were so important to hide from th' Gawtrybe? Puttin' him forward here stayed our paws, an' like as not it woulda done th' same fer those squirrels."

Tibball took it upon himself to answer. "Well, truth be told, Mr. Log-a-Shrew, I wasn't actually with them yet."

"What? But didn't that happen only just yesterday?"

Tibball grinned somewhat sheepishly. "Yes, that's right. I only just joined their company last evening."

"So you don't really know these rats at all, do you?" These words came almost as an accusation from Log-a-Log's lips.

Winokur promptly interceded. "Perhaps it's time to tell us your own tale, Tibball, and how you came to be with these rats."

"Not much to tell, really. I've lived in this part of Mossflower all my life. When word reached our neck of the woods about a large number of unknown creatures at this quarry - uh, I guess that would be you, and the Gawtrybe too, probably - I was dispatched as the fastest available runner to scout out the situation. Unfortunately, it happens that I don't know these woods quite as well as the ones to the south where I dwell, and I ended up getting myself rather lost. If these rats hadn't found me, I might still be wandering those trails in circles!"

"And you agreed to join them? Freely and willingly?"

"Well, I'll not deny that a few suspicious words might have been exchanged upon our first bumping into each other." Tibball glanced Log-a-Log's way. "Although nothing so heated as some of the recriminations I've heard here. But when I heard they were bound for Redwall, I determined to join them! I've never been there, and would dearly love to see it at least once before my seasons end. And Lattie thought it would be a good idea for me to go with them, so that was that!"

"Aye," Harth grumbled, betraying some dissatisfaction over this arrangement, "that was that." So deftly and good-naturedly had Tibball outlined his circumstances that neither rats nor Redwallers guessed at the double secret he hid: not only that his initial meeting with Harth's company was far tenser and less friendly than he'd just portrayed it, but also that it was Foxguard from which he'd been dispatched, at the behest of Tolar and Mona ... and now that Tibball knew of the connection between Foxguard and the Gawtrybe, he deemed it wise to keep that particular detail close to his vest for the time being.

Log-a-Log brought up another consideration then. "Well, even if we were to agree t' let all these rats go to Redwall, where'd you put 'em all? You don't even have room fer ev'rybeast livin' there now, an' it'll prob'ly be a season or two 'fore ye're well along toward buildin' new homes just fer Lekkas an' his lot. An' speakin' of 'em, how d'you s'pose scores o' former slaves of searats will react 'pon seein' a hunnerd an' more of their least favorite creatures showin' up at Redwall's gates askin' to come inside?"

Winokur purses his lips. "Okay, I'll admit that the situation does present some challenges, and a lot needs to be worked out. And we must all keep in mind that the final decision as to whether these rats gain entry to Redwall rests with none of us here; only Abbot Geoff can issue that decree. Which means going there and asking him."

Log-a-Log hooked a pawthumb toward Harth and Patreese. "An' takin' this lot with us? An' what if we show up with 'em in tow an' Geoff sez they can't come in?"

Harth addressed this concern. "We may not even hafta go inside. If this really is some kinda plague that's comin', we could set up camp outside yer walls, an' you could bring th' medicine out to us there."

But Latura shook her head at this. "No, no, gotta go inside. Only be safe inside th' walls."

"Why's that?" Harth probed. "Medicine's medicine, whether we take it inside or out."

She shook her head again, then raised her chin up. "To escape th' red, go inta th' red. Gotta be inside."

Winokur studied her in amazement for the second time. "What was that you just said? About escaping the red?"

Latura clammed up as if the words had already fled from her comprehension, but Patreese stepped in for her. "T'was what she said that very first day when she shared her vision with me - when she spoke in a voice that weren't hers. Escape th' red by goin' inta th' red. Still not sure I fully unnerstand what she meant by it, other than that we gotta get t' Redwall. Why, does it mean sumpthin' t' you, otter sir?"

"Yes and no. Skipper, unless I'm very much mistaken, that's almost exactly what Vanessa said just before the first of her fainting episodes, back in the winter. I wasn't there to hear it myself when it happened, but those who were reported it to me as best they could recall it. I even made a note of it in my journal; that's how I even remember it at all."

"Who's Vanessa?" Harth asked.

"Our former Abbess," Monty replied. "Took a stone to th' head from that louse of a shrew Snoga four seasons ago, an' ain't been 'erself since. Lately she's gotten worse, actin' all unruly an' becomin' prone to faintin' spells. She'll say th' oddest things from right outta nowhere, then keel over as if struck dead - sometimes she even stops breathin', an' her heart stops too."

"What was it she said when she interrupted the Pageant? 'It won't be your paw that takes my head,' or something like ... " Winokur trailed off, aware that Patreese and Harth had both released audible gasps and now sat staring at him with wide eyes and open jaws. "Why, does this mean something to you?"

"I'll say it does," Harth grunted, "an' if I didn't berlieve forces o' fate were at play in this before, I sure do now. Lattie here spoke those exact same words not four or five days ago. 'Won't be yer paw takes my head.' I was standin' right nearby when she said it."

"As was I," Patreese confirmed. "An' just like th' first time - about escapin' th' red - she weren't speakin' in her own voice when she said it."

Winokur exchanged glances with Monty. "Four or five days ago - which puts it around the same time at the Pageant. It can't be coincidence." The otter Recorder looked back to the two male rats. "What was going on that would lead Lattie to say such a thing?"

Harth answered without hesitation. "A fox was about t' slay 'er."

The others waited for him to continue. "And?!" Monty prompted. "What 'appened?"

"The fox died. Keeled right over without warning, just like you say yer old Abbess's been doin'. Only in his case, he never got up again."

"Pop!" Latura put in with childlike enthusiasm. "Had a bubble in 'is head, went pop!"

"An aneurysm?" Winokur said, having heard Mona and Metellus using that term once when discussing Vanessa's precarious position.

"If that's a fancy word fer it, then, yeah. Killed 'im just as dead either way. Seein' that was what made me realize Lattie was no fake or fraud, an' led me to throw in my lot with her completely." Harth spread his paws out before him. "An' here we are."

Winokur addressed his fellow Redwallers. "This goes beyond what I'd even first supposed. Vanessa hasn't just known of Latura, glimpsing her from a distance in visions. The two of them are connected somehow - like their destinies have become intertwined. This can't be ignored. These rats must be allowed to travel to Redwall."

Log-a-Log stewed at this but held his tongue, knowing that the otter Recorder was delving into areas far beyond him. Monty mulled it over for a moment, then said, "Prophecies an' legends might be yore field of expertise, Wink, but the defense of Redwall's mine. Harth, if we do take you to our Abbey, do you promise to surrender all yore weapons once we get there?"

"Aye. We'll stand on our heads if that's what it takes to reach safety."

Winokur smiled. "I'm sure the Abbot won't demand _that_ of you ... although it would certainly entertain Vanessa!"

"Don't wanna stand on my head," Latura weakly protested. "Might fall over."

Monty extended his paw to the rat leader. "Then I guess we got ourselves a deal, matey. You keep up yore end o' the bargain, an' we'll keep up ours."

Harth reached out and clasped the otter Skipper's flipper. "Thank you fer hearin' us out, friend. We'll not give you any trouble, on this I swear."

Latura perked up, as if only just becoming aware of the agreement which had been reached. "So, are we goin' to Redwall?"

Patreese smiled at his daughter. "Aye, Lattie, we're goin' to Redwall."

"Yay! We're goin' to Redwall!" She leaned over and caught up Winokur in an adoring embrace. "Knew Greenpup'd help us!"

"Um, yeah ... " Wink grimaced, but this time he didn't push her away.


	10. Chapter 39

**CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE**

In the observation deck dome atop the tower of Foxguard, the lunch bell rang, signalling the change of shift.

"Bah! Think they're late again, as usual," Weel complained. "Midday's long past!"

"What're you grousin' 'bout, mate?" Monda countered. "Borin' as this duty can be, wouldja really rather have been down there all that time, doin' actshul _work_?"

"Dunno, Mondy. Sometime, when Tolar keeps us busy, th' day seems t' go faster. Almost think I'd prefer real labor, with some purpose behind it an' results a beast c'n see, over these lookout shifts where y' stand watch dawn t' dusk an' back again, overseein' lands that never change an' where naught ever happens."

Monda elbowed his fellow weasel in the ribs as they ambled over to the elevator winch; the ringing of the bell meant that their relief stood upon the lift platform at the tower's base, waiting to be hauled up to the summit by the retiring rotation. "Well, can't deny sumpthin's happened _this_ shift, Weelsy! Takes a lot t' get Tolar 'imself up 'ere, not t' mention Mona!"

"I s'pose ... " Weel set his paws firmly on the winch handle, and within moments he and Monda fell into the familiar rhythm of exertion which would deliver the mobile platform to this pinnacle of the fox stronghold with all good speed. "Coulda done without that rabbert, tho'. Had all I could do t' keep from droolin' while 'ee was up 'ere. Succulent-lookin' thing, 'ee was."

Monda regarded his partner with alarm. "Weelsy! Don't go sayin' things like that! If'n anybeast heard ye ... "

"Aw, who's gonna hear? Just you 'n' me up here, an' it'll be some good while afore our relief's high enuff t' make out anything we're sayin'. Don't deny you don't sometimes have a hankerin' yerself fer some good, juicy meat y' could sink yer fangs inta."

Monda shook his head. "Ought not think that way, Weels. We gave all that up when we hooked up with Lord Urthblood, an' ain't we better off now than we were then?"

"Hard t' say. Ye're relergated t' soft duty fer th' rest o' yer soldierin' life with them smashed bones in yer footpaw, an' both of us're stuck here takin' orders from brushtails who treat us like second-class beasts."

"Well, t' them, ain't we? They're th' best o' Lord Urthblood's forces, after all, an' servin' here with 'em's s'posed t' be an honor. Face it, wouldn't you ner me've ever become a horde leader up North, an' we ain't exactly officer material neither. If'n Urthblood ain't never come along, we'd prob'ly both be dead now, slain 'fore we'd lived out our prime, like most hordesbeasts are. Much better life we're livin' now than it coulda been."

"Mebbe so. But y' also can't deny what we once was - or ignore what's natural. Might not be polite 'n' decent t' eat other creatures, but we both done lotsa things that weren't polite or decent in our younger days. An' once that taste gets inta ya, y' can't never ferget it. I know we're s'posed ta treat all beasts with respect, but instincts're instincts, an' there's a reason Urthblood mostly kept us weasels 'n' ferrets 'n' stoats away from certain species ... "

"Like rabberts."

"Aye. Like rabberts. Much as we been retrained an' re-educatered as proper soldierbeasts, sometimes y' just shouldn't tempt fate."

"Well, what about mice? A plump juicy mouse is just as succulent as any rabbert, an' you 'n' me both served alongside lotsa mice without any thought of scoffin' 'em."

"Heh. Only mice we ever served alongside were Urthblood's trained soldiermice, an' you jus' try 'n' go scoffin' one o' Cap'n Abellon's brigade! Sumpthin' 'bout a beast carryin' steel that makes ya stop thinkin' of 'em as food, y' know? But Urthblood ain't never had rabberts in his army - too timid an' unwarlike. That's why I've got trouble seein' 'em any other way than how I do."

"Well, you keep seein' 'em however y' like, but I'd keep it to yerself, unless'n you want a one-way ticket back North - or worse."

They soon had the elevator platform raised level with the observation deck floor, and to their surprise they beheld two foxes riding the conveyance: the recently-promoted Roxroy and the seasoned campaigner Haddican. While the masters of Foxguard occasionally deigned to perform towertop sentry duty themselves, these rotations were most commonly taken by the stronghold's weasels, the foxes regarding their training exercises and other pursuits as more important that standing high watch. It seemed Tolar was taking the presence of so many unexpected beasts in this region very seriously indeed.

Haddican stepped off the slightly-swaying boards onto the stone floor, Roxroy following. "Anything to report?"

"Um ... not especially," Weel replied, caught off guard by finding himself face-to-face with a senior swordfox sooner than expected.

Haddican narrowed his eyes at the two weasels. "Well, is there or isn't there?"

"Saw some more activity 'round th' quarry. Couldn't tell whether it was some o' th' beasts who'd been there all along, or new arrivals."

"That should be very easy to distinguish. Which direction did they come from?"

"Outta th' forest just north of us, movin' north toward th' quarry."

Roxroy and Haddican exchanged glances. "That would have been from the same woods Lieutenant Custis passed through on his way here yesterday," the younger fox said. "If there'd been any sizable enemy force there, the Gawtrybe would surely have discovered them."

"Perhaps. But Custis didn't mention that any of the Redwallers had ventured forth from the quarry to accompany him partway to Foxguard. And I can't imagine who else they could be." Haddican looked back to the weasels. "What kind of creatures were they, and how many?"

"Looked t' be well over a hunnerd, sir," Monda answered. "Couldn't tell fer sure what species - coulda been shrews, or mice, or mebbe rats ... "

"Rats?" The senior swordfox's ears pricked up at this.

"Can't really be sure from this distance 'n' height, sir - not even with th' long glass. Them creatures all kinda sorta look th' same, y' know, 'ceptin' fer th' size diff'rence. An' these were all th' same type o' creature, so there was naught else t' compare 'em to."

"Well, have they reached the quarry yet?"

"Aye. Looks like they're campin' out topside, mebbe t' keep outta th' way of the workerbeasts below."

"There was no attack?" Roxroy probed, concerned about this in particular since learning the previous night that his otter friend Winokur was among the Redwallers at the quarry.

"Nay. They just stopped there an' put down stakes, as t'were."

"Then they simply can't be rats," Roxroy declared in relief. "Rats would have attacked right away. And there's no way we and the Gawtrybe both could have missed so many rats on the move on this side of the river."

"Perhaps," Haddican mused. "Let me have the long glass."

Monda surrendered the telescope to Haddican, and the fox went to the outer balcony and trained the spyglass on the quarry. After studying the scene there for many long moments, he passed the device to his eagerly-waiting junior. "Tell me what you see, Rox."

Doing as bidden, Roxroy took his own turn with the long glass, then lowered it. "It's just as Monda and Weel said: these newcomers seem to have just stopped there at the quarry's edge, like they're setting up camp themselves. I can see a number of beasts down in the pit itself, and they look to be woodlanders, but there's no sign of fighting or strife. As to the identity of the strangers, I honestly can't tell from here whether they're mice or rats - although there do seem to be family beasts among them."

"That's what we thought too," Monda quickly put in. "Any group travellin' with family beasts can't be up t' trouble, right?"

Haddican considered this. "Most likely not. Although this situation needs to be watched closely - and reported to Sword Tolar right away."

"Aye," Weel acknowledged, "that's what we'd planned on doin' once we were down. Hadn't figgered on givin' any kinda preliminary report t' anybeast up here first."

"That's right," Monda seconded, "since we just sorta assumed our relief would be more weasels."

"Well, mind that you seek out Tolar straightaway and tell him what you just told us. Roxroy and I will monitor the quarry as our primary focus, and alert everybeast below if we see anything demanding immediate attention."

"Aye, sir, will do!" The two weasels stepped onto the waiting platform as the fox duo took their place at the lowering winch, and within moments Weel and Monda were slowly descending back to earth. They made sure to ring the lift's progress bell every few breaths so that the safety timber crews on duty would know when to pull back the catch beams and allow the elevator to pass unobstructed.

Attaining the bottom of the shaft some time later, Monda and Weel sought out Tolar, finding him at last out on the practice grounds overseeing drills for the most recent recruits. There they informed the Sword and his companion Sappakit of all they'd seen around the quarry, answering anew many of the same probing questions Haddican had put to them.

"Very good. Dismissed." The weasels saluted and scurried off in search of their first hot meal in two days, leaving Tolar and Sappakit to puzzle over and deliberate on this latest news.

"So, are we sending anybeast out to investigate, My Sword?"

"We already did, remember? And our bunny has gone missing in action."

"Perhaps these strangers spotted this morning know something of his fate? Perhaps Tibball walked right into something he wasn't prepared for."

"Or, conversely, he simply ran away, deciding he didn't care to return to Foxguard. I really don't see any point in sending anybeast out so far beyond our walls. These creatures Weel and Monda saw might well not be rats at all. In fact, they almost certainly aren't, if they haven't attacked the Redwallers. And Haddican didn't see fit to raise the alarm over this, even after surveying the scene for himself."

"I might remind you, sir, that it's no longer necessary to think in fox terms when it comes to scouting parties. Lieutenant Custis could have a contingent of his squirrels to the quarry well before evening. Shall we inform him of these developments?"

Tolar's eyes sought out the Gawtrybe commander, and found Custis over near the fortress entrance among the parked wagons, supervising the continued unloading of those carts. "I'd say he's got his paws too full at the moment. Much as I'd relish getting some of these squirrels out from underpaw again, I can't justify having them scramble to go chasing after rats who probably aren't even there. Haddican will keep a close watch on this situation from up above, and let us know if our involvement is warranted. For now, we'll leave it to the Redwallers and their Guosim allies to cope with their affairs at the quarry, and worry about what needs doing here at Foxguard - and with everything that's been laid at our doorstep, that will be quite enough to keep us fully occupied!"

00000000000

Foxguard boasted a far more modest dining hall than either Salamandastron or Redwall, a double-sized chamber which could seat no more than twoscore or so at a time. When Monda and Weel arrived, they found the room all but empty, the main exception being Mona, who sat at one end of the single long table with Trelayne and Kyslith. It seemed the late lunch bell had worked in their favor, getting them to the mess hall well after the midday press would have made seats scarce.

The healer vixen nodded a slight greeting toward the two weasels as they entered the room, then immediately all but forgot about them after they vanished into the adjoining kitchen to fill their plates. Enough light streamed in through the pair of windows along the outer wall to warmly illuminate the area without need of lamps or torches. Turning back to the glassmaker and his assistant as they all picked over the remnants of their own late lunch, she resumed their conversation.

"I am so glad that you've found our facilities here acceptable. Foxguard was never designed with such labors in mind, and when we learned you would be arriving to at last bestow upon us the monument to Machus that both he and Foxguard deserve, Tolar was left scrambling to allocate and clear the appropriate chambers for your work. I just hope you don't mind being banished to the basement!"

"Oh, not at all, my dear!" the marten assured her. "I mean, we'll be sharing the same level now, my workshop and your surgery, so what's good enough for you will surely be good enough for me as well! The space downstairs is quite satisfactory. As you well know, I am accustomed to keeping my work areas in cellars. And when working with such large quantities of the vitriol as I shall require for this project, I really must be at the lowest point within any structure, for safety's sake. An accident or large spill could prove catastrophic if it were to occur above any rooms occupied by other creatures. I just hope any fumes we inadvertently produce don't rise up through the fortress and cause anybeast discomfort."

"I don't think that will be an issue, located where you are. Tolar gave you the chamber directly beneath the tower shaft, which is pretty well sealed off from the upper floors of the fortress. I'm more worried about the two of you, working down there with hardly any ventilation to speak of. Any fumes you create as a result of your processes are more likely to build up in your area. Are you sure it will be safe?"

"I don't see it being a problem. I worked under similar conditions at Salamandastron while crafting the first statue of Machus, and Kyslith and Tolomeo and I were always mindful to wear moistened kerchiefs over our snouts if we thought there was any risk of a harmful buildup of vapors. We even have goggles to keep our eyes from stinging, if things get too bad. Do not fret yourself, Mona; I've worked with the vitriol for many seasons, and I've still got both lungs and both eyes - and all my paws too!" Trelayne's face fell as he detected a hint of distress cross Mona's features. "I'm sorry, I ought not make light of such things, in light of what happened to Sathara." Seeing her expression twist further, he said, "Now I've gone and upset you, haven't I?"

Mona forced a wistful smile. "It's been seasons since I last heard anybeast besides Tolar speak my sister's name aloud. It's reassuring to know she's remembered - even by creatures who barely knew her in life."

"Yes, but I only wish our reasons for remembering her were not quite so tragic. Perhaps, once I am finished with Machus's monument for Foxguard, I can create a more modest statue of your sister for you."

Mona's eyes widened. "You could do that? You remember well enough what she looks like to re-create her likeness? You only met her once, and for such a short time, all those seasons ago ... "

"The searats didn't beat _all_ my memories of that meeting out of my head! She looked much like you, as I recall, if a bit harder. You must be around the age she was then, or perhaps just a little older, so you can provide the perfect model for reference ... even if you have blossomed into a beautiful vixen, whereas the rigors of her rough life up North had left her somewhat calloused, and that sternness showed in her face. But yes, it should be quite possible."

"That would be ... wonderful. Thank you, Trelayne."

"Don't mention it, my dear. But it may be some time before I can deliver on such a promise. The statue of Machus must come first, and that will take quite some doing - although not as much, I daresay, as its companion at Salamandastron, which is destined to forever be the grander of the two, I regret. I was examining the staircases and doorways leading down to my workshop, and I must be mindful that I don't make this monument too big, or else it will never leave Foxguard's cellars! As it is, even at a slightly diminished scale, it will be a challenge to haul it out to its pedestal in the courtyard."

"Just be thankful in that case that Tolar or Lord Urthblood didn't decree that the monument be located up in the observation deck!" Mona teased. "If you deem a single flight of stairs to be a hardship!"

"Oh, heavens! If I had to install it up there, I'd almost surely need to employ ropes and a crane to have it winched up along the outside of the tower ... and my heart would be in my throat with every turn of the handle! My fur would be entirely gray by the time it was emplaced! Although, in a way, that would be an appropriate spot for it: atop the tallest tower ever raised in all the lands, at the center of the fortress built for the swordfox brigade Machus helped to found."

"Indeed," Mona agreed with a plaintive sigh. "I do still miss him sometimes, Trelayne."

"You and nearly everybeast privileged enough to ever know him. And if you are not destined to make it out to the coastlands any season soon to behold his memorial there, I will do my best to replicate its splendor here, for you to gaze upon anytime you wish."

"I have no doubt that your work will be splendid indeed." Mona turned her attention to the marten's assistant. "And what of you, Kyslith? How are you enjoying your time here at Foxguard so far?"

"Oh, very much so, m'lady. I've been here nearly a full day already, and it still almost doesn't seem real. I mean, the sheer magnificence of this fortress - it's almost enough to take the breath away. It's also quite a change for me to be back amongst so many of my fellow foxes. This brigade had already moved out of Salamandastron by the time Master Trelayne and I came down from the North, so it's been seasons since I last shared the regular company of my own kind. It's actually rather daunting in some ways. Almost ... unsettling ... "

Mona showed her genuine surprise. "Oh? What do you mean?"

"Well, all these foxes in Tolar's brigade are warriorbeasts, and that's the last thing I am! I'm an artisan, devoted to creating lasting expressions of beauty, even if my recent seasons have been dedicated to helping Master Trelayne with Lord Urthblood's war efforts. I really don't think these swordfoxes understand me, any more than I understand them. It can be ... somewhat awkward, being with so many of your own species and finding you've got absolutely nothing in common with them, and nothing to talk about. In some ways, I feel no more kinship with the foxes here than with the Gawtrybe I marched here with from Salamandastron." He favored Mona with a grateful smile. "That's why I'm enjoying our present conversation so much. You're one of the few creatures at Foxguard I've felt comfortable being with."

Mona patted his paw. "I'm sure it's not so bad. They all appreciate that you're here to do a job at Lord Urthblood's bidding, I am sure, and that your labors will result in enriching Foxguard to the benefit of all. Just because their occupation differs from yours doesn't mean you can't enjoy their company. Why, look at me: I'm a healer, not an artisan, and yet here the two of us are, chatting like old friends!"

Kyslith forced himself to look cheerier. "Thank you, Mona, although I suspect you are far easier to talk to than professional warriors. In all truth, I imagine I'll be so occupied in the coming days helping Master Trelayne with the statue, I'll likely not have much time for socializing anyway."

"Perhaps. But if you continue to feel out of place here, may I suggest a couple of foxes in the brigade you may wish to seek out? One is a veteran named Mykola, one of the original twenty who served directly under Machus and fought by his side at Salamandastron. He is a good deal more thoughtful and less warlike than most of his comrades, and would I imagine very much enjoy talking about things other than war with an intelligent beast such as yourself. And the other is a younger member of the brigade named Roxroy, who was only recently elevated from cadet status. He has visited Redwall a number of times, and has even struck up a close friendship with the Abbey's current Recorder and historian when that otter was still only a novice himself. I trust that if any foxes of Tolar's brigade can put you at ease and make you feel at home here, it's them!"

"Thank you, Mona, that's very thoughtful of you. Roxroy, you say? And Mykola too? Yes, I think I will seek them both out, when time allows. They sound like just the foxes I need!"

"Roxroy just went up to stand lookout watch atop the tower, but his shift there should be a short one, and he'll probably descend sometime this evening. But Mykola is likely to be up on the walltop on sentry duty there; he has a bit of a limp, so that's the duty he often prefers, when he's not out on the parade grounds helping to train the cadets. Any fox or weasel will be happy to point him out to you."

"That sounds like a fine idea," Trelayne agreed, "although Kyslith is quite correct that our work here will be keeping us both quite busy. It took us all morning to get the large tub moved down into the cellars and put in place in the central chamber, even with some of the Gawtrybe adding their muscle to the task. It's funny, but when the Redwallers were inspecting the carts at the Abbey, they didn't ask about it at all - I almost suspect they just assumed it was part of the cargo bed on one of the carts! I wonder what questions it might have raised had they recognized it for what it was."

"Yes, I saw you all struggling with that earlier. I assume it's coated with beeswax, for working with the vitriol?"

"Not yet, but it will be. We wanted to install it first before treating it. If we'd coated the interior before leaving Salamandastron, the wax layer might easily have cracked or been gouged through rough handling, creating a fissure through which the vitriol could have eaten its way, leading perhaps to the spillage of the entire tub - precisely the kind of catastrophic accident to which I alluded previously."

"Ah. So you're carrying the wax separately? I certainly hope you brought your own supply, because we've none around here!"

"Oh, yes. In fact, we brought with us nearly the entire quantity we had on paw at Salamandastron - more than enough for our purposes here, although fortunately, with the Accord in place, Lord Urthblood foresees no reason to maintain stockpiles of the vitriol for weapons use ... and where there's no vitriol, there's no need for beeswax! That substance is actually what determines how extensively we can work in this area; while the ingredients necessary for formulating the vitriol itself can be found any number of places throughout the lands, beeswax remains a far scarcer commodity, having to be painstakingly coaxed from living hives a little at a time. We've actually been looking into whether some forms of vegetable-based waxes might withstand the vitriol as well, but without any success so far, I regret to say. That would greatly alleviate the situation, being able to rely on something far more readily available. But for now, beeswax it is!"

Monda and Weel reappeared then, plates fully laden as they settled onto the benches at the far end of the table, their entire attention focused on their food and not wanting to encroach upon Mona and her guests. Trelayne made to rise, taking up his own empty dish. "It's been truly lovely catching up with you like this, my dear Mona, and long overdue too, but now I must return to my preparations. I still have much to do before I can even start thinking about commencing work on the statue itself."

"Of course, I understand. But, as you say, we'll be sharing the cellars of Foxguard, so I'll often be just a fewscore paces from where you'll be working, so never hesitate to poke your head in if you need anything from me, or just to say hello if you're in the mood for a little socializing. And if I'm not down in my surgery, Tolar will likely know where I can be found."

"I will certainly keep that in mind. It's been so long since we last dwelt and worked in close proximity to each other, it almost feels like the Northlands all over again! I'll even have metalworks of a sort going on here too, just like back then!"

"I do hope that other endeavor Lord Urthblood has laid upon us doesn't prove too great a distraction. And that reminds me ... " Mona rose from her seat and padded over to the weasel duo, who sat tucking into their late lunch and showed surprise at the vixen's approach. "Monda, Weel, once the two of you are finished here, Tolar wanted to see you. He's got a new assignment for you."

"Funny, we just saw 'im outside, 'fore headin' in here, an' he didn't mention it," Weel said through a half-chewed mouthful.

"Well, I'm mentioning it to you now," Mona said, her amiable tone sharpening somewhat upon sensing that these weasels might be looking to dodge their responsibilities or shirk their duty to Foxguard. "Sword Tolar is a busy beast, with the daily management of this entire fortress to oversee, and much on his mind, especially these days. He can be forgiven a small slip. But trust me, he does wish to see all the weasels down in the east cellars, sometime this afternoon. That's why he sent Haddican and Roxroy up to relieve you instead of two more weasels."

"Ah. Was wond'rin' 'bout that. But, uh, Mondy 'n' me was gonna go turn in after this. We been on duty two days straight, y'know."

"Actually, it was more like a day and a half - and yes, I am well aware, since I was up there with you part of that time, remember? But didn't you catch any naps during your rotation, taking turns spelling each other the way you're supposed to? That's why we always post at least two lookouts to each shift, after all. Surely you didn't both stay awake the entire time? I would find that very hard to credit indeed."

"Aw, we mighta snuck in a snooze here 'n' there, ma'am," Monda admitted, "but nuthin' like a real proper body-enrichin' slumber a beast cries out fer every night."

"You have your orders. Report to the cellars once you're done with your meals. You can re-acquaint yourselves with your beds once your business there is concluded." Mona turned and strode from from the mess hall, her pawsteps now less a soft pad than an assertive stomp of authority. The weasel pair were left staring after her, shaking their heads in her wake.

"Well, that was kinda snippy 'n' snooty o' her, weren't it?"

"Almost frosty, I'd say. Who does that vix think she is? She ain't th' boss of us!"

"Mebbe not, but she shares a bed with our boss, so any guff we give her might as well be told right t' Tolar's face."

"Aye, that's true 'nuff. Plus, y' don't wanna be on 'er bad side, in case y' ever need t' go to her fer any healin'. She could make stitchin' up a wound extra painful, or give you some extra-foul medicine y' don't really need, one that gives ya all kinda nasty side effects too."

"I'd be more worried 'bout really crossin' her, an' endin' up all sliced up with my parts floatin' 'round in some o' them gruesome jars she keeps down there. Wouldn't fancy havin' my bones added to her collection, stood up in a corner fer all t' see an' just gatherin' dust!"

"Aw, she'd never do that to anybeast in Lord Urthblood's service. I mean, she never has before. All her bones 'n' body bits've come from th' woodlander corpses she's traded food fer. To get 'er paws on one o' us, she'd hafta convince Tolar t' have us executed, an' that fox plays by th' rules, say whatever else about 'im you will. We'd hafta commit one walloper of an offense fer him t' sentence us t' death, so I think we're safe on that score, mate."

"Y' reckon so? You don't imagine she'd be able t' twist Tolar 'round her little dainty pinky paw, whisper in 'is ear at night t' get sumpthin' she really wanted? Or cut right to th' jugular an' slip us some potion t' stop our hearts, an' make it look innocent? She could' y' know."

"Aw, she'd never do that! She's our healer, dedercatered t' healin' the sick, not sickenin' th' well!"

"Dunno, mate. I'd not put anything past that one. She don't think like normal creatures think - an' I fer one would hate t' find myself standin' in th' way of sumpthin' she decides she really wants!"

00000000000

"Hey, nice job on those lunch bells, Cyr!"

Cyril glanced up from where he sat munching a butterscotch scone out on the east walltop, smirking at his younger sibling's thinly-veiled sarcasm. Flicking flaky crumbs from his whiskers, he retorted, "Yeah, well, now that you're too busy covering Brother Winokur's classes to help me ring the day's tolls, I'm stuck with Maura again - and she's a bit out of practice."

Cyrus propped himself against the battlements alongside Cyril, leaning on the sun-warmed sandstone as he gazed out into the verdant fastness of Mossflower beyond. "Yes, we could tell up in the classroom. I even quizzed everybeast on it, to see if any of them could guess what it most resembled. The closest we could come up with was something halfway between a wedding peal and the evening tolling."

Cyril chuckled. "Well, when Wink's back from the quarry later this season, you can return to the belltower with me. Until then, Maura will just have to try to find her rhythm. At least she didn't accidentally sound a general call to arms! So, how are you finding it, having to oversee the students and conduct the lessons all on your own? Ready to tear all your whiskers out yet?"

"Oh, it hasn't been bad at all, really. Not the debacle I'd feared it might be. Amazingly, it's been our Sparra trio who've proved the greatest help."

"The Sparra?" Cyril echoed in surprise. "I'd have thought they'd be the toughest to keep in line, considering how they love to instigate mischief. Especially after that Pageant!"

"Yes, you'd think so, wouldn't you? Maybe their part as the chorus in an historical play gave them a greater appreciation and respect for Abbey history, but whatever the reason, they've really knuckled down and started taking classes more seriously - or maybe they just relish their newfound, self-appointed authority. All I know is, the moment any student acts up or tries to disrupt the lessons, Harpreet, Skytop and Brybag will jump all over the offender before I can even open my mouth. They've even taken to perching themselves up at the head of the class, facing the rest of the students alongside me, so that they can spot any horseplay and shout it down before it gets out of paw. And believe me, three spirited sparrows trilling loud reprimands in unison is enough to silence anybeast! I must say, their assistance has made my tenure a lot less challenging than I thought it would be."

"Sounds to me like they're getting rather full of themselves - delusions of grandeur, and all that. Better watch out, or soon they'll be running that class themselves!"

"Oh, I'm sure they'd love that, bossing around all us 'groundcrawlers' and lording it over us! But I think there's another reason my students have been conducting themselves so properly."

"Oh?"

"It's the new students - the former slaves. I honestly didn't know what to expect from them, and thought they might be too troubled by their past to sit still and pay attention and not disturb the lessons, but mostly they've just sat and listened, without taking much of an active role. They're a rapt audience, and this is all so new to them, they're just staying quiet and soaking it all in."

"Well, they're former slaves," Cyril pointed out. "Where they've just come from, if they'd cut up, they might have wound up ... well, cut up."

Cyrus grimaced. "Nice way of putting it, Cyr. But I do think their presence has had a calming effect on everybeast overall, even the usual troublemakers like Droge and Budsock. It's like our longtime pupils all realize Redwall's on display for all our new arrivals, and lessons they may have already heard many times from Geoff and Winokur seem fresh again, knowing these lessons are now being heard by ears new to the Abbey. Everybeast is pulling together to put on the best face they can, not only to help the slave youngsters settle in but also to show them the best that Redwall can be. It's really humbling and gratifying to be a part of it."

"Well, that's ... great, Cy. I hope it keeps up for you. Knowing Droge and Buddy, they're already secretly on the lookout for candidates ripe for the recruiting, who they can induct into their little club of misfits, now that their chief accomplice Pirkko is off with the Guosim on their warm-season wanderings, and isn't likely to return until autumn."

"I guess I'm just an optimist, then, 'cos it really feels to me like a new decorum has settled over our pupils. It's not every season that our Abbey population explodes like it just has, and I think the realization that these are extraordinary times has truly sunk in with them. Also, Vanessa's recent antics have driven home just how unseemly such behavior can be, and I think even Droge and Budsock are aghast at her actions. They don't want to be seen as having any part in that, especially now that they're nearing the end of their schooling seasons." Cyrus glanced toward the former Abbess, who stood a short distance away, leaning upon the battlements just as he was. "So, any change in her today?"

"Naw, she's been acting pretty odd. Well, odd for her, which would be kinda normal for almost anybeast else. She's been up here all day, just standing there staring into the forest, like she's waiting for something. She's barely spoken, or eaten either, just nibbling on candied chestnuts and acorn crunch. Arlyn and Metellus have been up to check on her a few times, but she seems out of danger - whatever that means. But it sure has made my job of watching over her easier!"

"Aye, that's true," agreed Smallert, seated on the cozy stone alongside Cyril. "Why, I was even able t' stay here an' watch over her all by my lonesome while Cyr went t' go ring the bells with Maura, an' she t'weren't no trouble t'all. Real calm she's been, all day, jus' like Cyril says."

"Well, that's something, I suppose," Cyrus hazarded. "Let's just hope it's not the calm before the storm!"

0000000000

It didn't take long into Haddican and Roxroy's shift for the alert bells to ring at the bottom of the elevator shaft. Moments later a crumpled ball of parchment bounced onto the empty lift platform, and the young fox Belsis on duty there stepped forward to retrieve it, smooth it out and read it.

Then he raced off to find Tolar.

Foxguard's Sword at that moment held court down in the east cellars with all the fortress's weasels and several of the Gawtrybe. They stood amongst the newest tools to have been installed within the stronghold: hammers and anvils, presses and rollers and stamps, all wrought from the most formidable and unyielding materials. In one corner sat a stone furnace, larger but otherwise not too dissimilar to the one Trelayne had had built on the lawns of Redwall. A heavy clay pipe vented to the outside, so that the hot fires could be stoked in this subterranean chamber without smoking out the workers here.

"Not bad," pronounced a squirrel named Vanacour as he finished his inspection of the arrangement while all the weasels milled around impatiently, uncertain why they'd been called away from their other duties (or, worse yet, their well-earned relaxation) to muster here. "Not a bad job at all, considering you had no moles on paw to assist you with the masonry."

Tolar's lip curled downward at Vanacour's insinuation. "We're not entirely helpless here, you know. The schematics and instructions Klystra delivered were most clear and straightforward - we had no trouble following them. Weasels and foxes labored side-by-side to have this done in time for your arrival. I'm sure you'll find this furnace more than adequate for melting the metals you've brought with you."

"Not melt," the squirrel corrected. "Just soften. The metal won't even need to be red hot for your purposes. As long as it's malleable enough to be shaped and worked, that's all you need. It's not like this is a weapons shop for producing arms - although I suppose it could be used for that in a pinch. The blades would turn out rather crude, I suspect - far inferior to the quality and fineness to which your brigade is accustomed."

Some of the nearer weasels, as yet still uninformed as to the purpose of this new workshop, looked at each other in confusion. If this was not to be a weapons smithy, then what was it for? And what did it have to do with them?

They were about to get their answer - almost. Vanacour stepped up to Tolar's side, and together fox and squirrel turned to address the assemblage. It was at that precise moment that Belsis burst into the room.

"Sword Tolar! Message from the high watch!"

The fox commander's brow furrowed in mild annoyance. "I'm rather in the middle of something here, Belsis. Is it important?"

"Um, I'm not really sure, sir. But I thought you'd want to see it for yourself and make up your own mind."

Tolar curled his lip, then turned to the others. "Excuse me a moment." Stepping into the passage beyond, he took the wrinkled parchment from Belsis and strained to read it in the lamplight there. The words that took shape before his gaze left him puzzled.

"Half the beasts are leaving the quarry? Heading back toward the river, along with all the newcomers who showed up this morning?"

Belsis nodded uncertainly. "That's what it says, My Sword." I gather Haddican wants to know whether you wish to go up to see it for yourself, and awaits your reply."

"Yes, I gather. Not that there's much of anything we can do from here to affect the outcome of this situation, whatever this portends. But why would the Redwallers, so determined to reopen the quarry that they'd commit so large a portion of their resources to the effort, suddenly reverse themselves and withdraw half their expedition?"

"Um ... I don't know, sir. But what if the Abbeybeasts are in trouble?"

"We saw no indication earlier that they were under attack in elsewise in dire straits. Nothing in this note suggests they are in trouble - just that some of them are evacuating the quarry and returning to the river." Tolar stood tapping the parchment against one paw, deep in thought. "Go find Sappakit up on the practice grounds. I trust his judgment. Have him ascend to the observation deck to assess the situation for himself. If he determines that our involvement is called for, we can have Custis send out some of the Gawtrybe to address the matter - they could be on the scene long before any fox or weasel. But I am too busy here to be called away for long. Notify me of any noteworthy developments. That will be all."

"Yes, sir!" Belsis saluted primly and hurried off to find Sappakit.

Tolar stood by himself in the passage for several moments, then spun and returned to the gathering. All faces turned his way expectantly. "Is there any trouble, My Sword?" his fellow fox Dijax inquired of him.

"I don't believe so. Just some comings and goings a bit beyond the usual."

"Anything Lieutenant Custs should know about?" Vanacour asked.

Tolar shook his head. "No, I deem not. It doesn't seem to be urgent, or immediate. Now, where were we?"


	11. Chapter 40

**CHAPTER FORTY**

Once it was decided that the rats would be going to Redwall, the debate began as to just who would be taking them there.

"I want all th' Guosim along on this march," Log-a-Log insisted at first. "There might be family beasts 'mongst this rabble, but there's still plenny o' armed fighters mixed in with 'em too - mebbe enuff fer 'em t' try 'n' take Redwall, if that's what they've got in mind. Could be the babes 'n' ratwives 'n' oldsters're all just a ruse, to hoodwink us inta helpin' them get closer to their target."

Winokur stood steadfast against these suspicions. "I think we've pretty well established that there's a lot more to what's going on here than just some hordesbeasts trying to trick their way into Redwall. But even if that were true, I suspect you'd not need anywhere near your full complement to quell any trouble."

But it was when Foremole weighed in that the final logistics were determined. "Burr, if'n et be's all ee same, gudd gennelbeasts, uz molers wudd gurtly loik to aboide yurr an' start on ee quorryen work. Et be what uz cumm yurr furr, arfter all, an' wuddn't make sense if'n uz went all ee way back to ee H'Abbey with ee, no zurrs et wuddn't."

"That clinches it then," Monty declared. "The moles are stayin' - which means some of us hafta stay here with 'em too as a defensive force, in case th' next hunnerd rats who come upon this quarry ain't as friendly as this crew was. Log matey, you leave half yore Guosim here with me an' a few of me otters, an' the rest will escort Wink an' these rats to Redwall. An' if any of 'em do have trouble in mind, you'll have plenty o' shrew blades an' otter javelins t' put 'em in their place."

"And once we reach the Abbey," Winokur added, "there'll be the remaining otters, plus Alexander's Mossflower Patrol, plus Colonel Clewiston's Long Patrol, plus all the other able-bodied Abbeybeasts - including all the former slaves, many of whom might relish a crack at any rat who'd dare to threaten their new home. I'd say Harth would be a fool to start anything under those conditions."

Once the allotment of their numbers was finally agreed upon, that left the question of when to begin the journey - a matter on which Latura showed considerably more clarity than usual.

"Gotta leave soon's we can. Gotta leave t'day. Warrior bought us some time, but not much."

Harth looked to Monty and Log-a-Log. "My rats have had a nice long midday rest; we're ready to go anytime you are. Can we make the river by nightfall?"

"The river? No problem," answered the shrew chieftain. "But as to gettin' ev'rybeast across 'fore darkness falls? That'd be more of a challenge. We'll make what time we can."

"Better t' be across," Latura chimed in. "Much better t' be on the other side."

"Mebbe you'd like t' take along a few lamps with ye?" Monty offered Log-a-Log. "In case you wanna travel by night?"

The shrew leader shook his head, graciously declining. "Nay, you'll need all of 'em here, fer Foremole's crew t' work by. We'll be a'right on our own. We can allers craft torches if need be, if'n we decide on a night crossin'. They're easy t' cobble t'gether with what we'll have on paw."

And so it was settled. Those Guosim and otters who elected to return to the Abbey quickly threw together their travel supplies, bade farewell to their fellows and the moles, and trod up the long ramp to join Harth's company up atop the quarry. Winokur gathered up his Recorder's satchel, Latura never far from his side; the simple-minded ratmaid seemed near to infatuated with the otter historian, and hovered close to him constantly.

"You know, you don't have to stay within arm's length of me at all times," he told her at one point, growing mildly exasperated.

"But I feel safe 'round you," she replied with childlike directness. "Ye're a good Greenpup. Gonna get us to Redwall!"

"Yes, uh, that seems to be the consensus we've reached, so no need to be quite so ... clingy. We'll be seeing plenty of each other between here and the Abbey - and after we're there too, I'm sure."

"Okay. So, we're goin' now?"

"Yes. We're going now."

"Yay!" Latura latched onto his arm. "We're goin' t' Redwall!"

She clung to him all during his final farewells to the moles and all the way up the rock incline to the top rim of the vast pit. Monty awaited the departing beasts, wanting to see them off from there. As Winokur and Latura tramped up to join them, the otter Skipper observed, "Well, Wink, looks like ye'll not be here t' witness th' full openin' of this quarry after all. Hope you ain't too disappointed - know how you had yore heart set on it."

Winokur dismissed this concern with the wave of a paw - the one that wasn't weighed down with an adoring rodent. "Nonsense, Skip! The main reason I wanted to be here for the reopening was because of its historical significance - and I'd say a much bigger story has found us." He looked over all the rats assembling to march. "Yes, a much bigger story indeed."

"Shore 'nuff, I'd say yore right. Well, say hullo to the Abbey for me. Hope to be back there again m'self, soon's may be."

Then the procession was off, a hundred alert Guosim headed by Log-a-Log himself, suspiciously flanking a hundred and a half rats as the whole massive living conglomerate plodded toward the River Moss under the afternoon sun ... and, far and high away, the watchful gaze of Foxguard. The pace was set by the older rats and mothers tending babes, along with Turma and one or two other ratwives also in a family way. The few older children - too old to still be under their mothers' constant care, but too young to have been permanently scarred by exposure to the full horror of Krayne's cruel tyranny - scampered back and forth between their fellow rats and even between shrews and otters too, laughing and joking and chasing each other in a loose game of tag without rules or boundaries, exhibiting the same exuberance that Latura had displayed to Winokur over their impending deliverance.

Winokur, marching at the column's head with Log-a-Log, glanced from Latura at his side back toward Turma and her husband Mathurin sticking by her with obvious dedication and devotion, to the rat children running and squealing with joyful abandon, to the oldsters being helped along by diligent family members. Shaking his head, he commented to the shrew chieftain, "You'd think they were just plain, ordinary woodlanders, looking at them like this. Such a palpable sense of relief coming from them, like a dread has been lifted from their shoulders and they're finally free to breathe easier than they have in a long time. This can't all be a ruse to trick their way into Redwall for some dark purpose. It just can't be."

Log-a-Log remained more jaded, his attention on the armed fighters within the rat column rather than the family beasts among them. "Yah. Tell ya what, Wink: You worry 'bout what we're gonna do with this lot at the Abbey if they turn out to be tellin' th' truth, an' let me worry 'bout what t' do with 'em if they're playin' us false."

As the slanting sun dipped below the treeline to the west, the leading tip of the column came to the banks of the freely-flowing Moss. Stopping above the various moored rafts and barges, they stood regarding the river.

"Is it my imagination," Winokur remarked, "or are the currents stronger now than during our outbound trip?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Log-a-Log replied. "May've only been a light rain we got here two nights ago, but that ain't sayin' it didn't rain much harder somewhere upriver. T'would take a day or so fer all the runoff from side streams 'n' feeder tributaries t' add all that extra water to th' Moss, so the timeline's about right."

Harth eyed the broadstream with clear concern. "Will there be any problem crossing it?"

Log-a-Log unleashed a sharp bark of laughter. "We're th' Guosim! An' we got Redwall otters with us too! Fer seasoned waterbeasts like us, an' unruly trickle's still just a trickle!"

The rat leader's qualms remained, not entirely quelled by these assurances. "We'll hold you to that. Ain't many good swimmers 'mongst us rats."

Log-a-Log rolled his eyes. "I swear - moles on th' way over, rats on th' way back ... awright, then we'll make sure t' seat alla you in th' middle of th' rafts, so's you don't get yer toes 'n' whiskers wet!"

"Shall we start the crossing right away?" Winokur asked.

"Don't see why not. Still got a good stretch o' daylight left to work by, an' Miss Future Ratmaid 'ere sez we should be across, so let's be across!"

Latura and her fellow villagers, along with Winokur and a number of Harth's rats, were ushered aboard the first of the big rafts and pushed off by the Abbey otters from their stern. As the craft edged out into the main currents, one of the shrew-crewed logboats butted up against its trailing timbers, and Guosim rowers dug in with their oars to propel the barge toward the far shore. While most of the rodents demonstrated an almost mole-like apprehension and distrust of the open water, Latura beamed and grinned like a youngbeast in the midst of some grand adventure.

"Fwee! This's fun!"

Patreese laid a paw on his daughter's shoulder. "Mebbe not so spirited, eh? Not ev'ryrat's relishin' this voyage like you are, Lattie."

Log-a-Log, rowing within earshot of this, openly scoffed. "Pah! Voyage, he calls this? Like t' get 'im out on th' Big Inland Lake, with no land to be seen in any direction, an' see what 'ee makes of _that!_"

Ignoring her father's low-key plea for restraint, Latura got up and pranced to the side of the barge. "I'm gonna paddle my paws! An' tail too!"

At an unspeaking nod from Patreese, Castor rose and followed his sister to the raft's edge, wanting to stay close to her for her own safety. In spite of this familial reservation, however, the mood among the other rats on board lightened; if Latura could treat this crossing so frivolously, then surely everything would turn out all right.

Winokur, freed from Latura's constant clinging presence for a few rare moments of solitary freedom, looked on at the glee with which the prophetic ratmaid greeted this river outing, and was reminded anew of a similar excursion four seasons earlier, when his small company bore back to Redwall an Abbess forever changed. Indeed, the seeming link between Vanessa and Latura only deepened his sense of history replaying itself here, and left the otter Recorder with the undeniable impression that the currents of fate and destiny were swirling around them all now, as surely as the restless waters of the Moss swirled around their crude assemblage of timbers and vine lashings.

Latura lifted her footpaws from the water. "Brrr! Too cold! Hey, anybeast got anything t' eat? I feel like sumpthin' sweet ... like mebbe candied chestnuts, or acorn crunch!"

Castor knelt on the rough deck, steadying Latura with a paw around her waist. "But, Lattie, y' ain't never had vittles like that ... "

"Don't care. Want 'em now. Got a real hankerin' fer sweetened nuts!"

Harth and the other rats waited to board their own rafts until they saw that the first party had been safely ferried across to the opposite banks. Not that they doubted the professed watercraft expertise of the shrews and otters, but with so much of their venture riding on Latura, everyrat felt that her safety remained their paramount concern. If some mishap should befall their demure oracle, even now that their company was so close to Redwall and in the presence of some of those very Abbeybeasts, they nevertheless all shared the conceit that such a misfortune might well bring disaster down upon them all. Thus did a huge collective sigh of relief rise up from the onlooking rats as Latura stepped off her barge and onto the far shore, where she continued to cavort on dry land just as she had on the raft during her passage.

"Okay, enuff lollygaggin', ya skintails!" one of the Guosim gruffly called out. "We got a whole slew o' rafts here, ready 'n' waitin' to be filled! So all you landlubbers get yerselves shiftin' 'fore this season's over!"

Grota made a face of sour scorn. ""Not sure how I care fer these bossywhiskers bossin' us 'round like that, Gen- er, sir. It's like they think we're all jus' grunts t' their officers! Don't it stick in yer craw?"

"There's a lot I'll swallow if it means gettin' us all t' Redwall safely. Don't let it bother you, Grote - once we're at the Abbey, we'll be in th' paws of much gentler beasts than these shrews, an' we can tell 'em all to go soak if we want."

"Wouldn't mind soakin' one or two of 'em right now, until their breath runs out, if'n y' know what I mean. But, guess I can't, can I?"

"No. You can't. Now get aboard that barge there an' join th' crossin'."

"What about you, sir?"

"I'm stayin' here with the rearguard until the last trip. Want t' make sure ev'ryrat gets across a'right."

Grota eyed some of the lingering Guosim, paws resting nonchalantly on their rapier hilts. "Looks like ye'll have company, right up to th' last."

"Nuthin' more'n we were expectin'. They don't trust us, an' we've no choice but to trust 'em. It's a devil's bargain, awright, an' we can only hope it'll get better once we reach Redwall. Just be glad Lattie was able t' find her Greenpup, 'cos without that otter, I think our journey would've ended at that quarry back there."

Without the oversized Gawtrybe carts taking up so much space, many more passengers could be crowded into the middle of each big raft, and it quickly became apparent that only two group crossings by this modest flotilla would be required to ferry all the remaining rats and Guosim across. Grota stepped down onto the barge indicated by Harth and took his place near the center of the lightly-bobbing timber platform. He found himself seated next to Tibball, who'd decided to get this ordeal over with sooner rather than later.

Looking aside at the rabbit as several Redwall otters pushed off from the bank, Grota admitted, "Y' know, when you came up from th' quarry an' told us Harth wanted us all t' pull back, I wasn't sure whether it was a trick or not, or whether or not t' do it. Coulda been you an' them other woodlanders only wanted us t' think those were Harth's orders, as part o' some battle stratergy. I took a big chance, doin' what you said."

"But it all turned out all right, didn't it, yes?" Tibball responded dismissively, in no mood to tolerate any implied recriminations, accusations or reproaches from this second-fiddle rat whilst so much potential watery death surrounded them on all sides, demanding his attention. "Bet you're glad you listened to me, hm?"

Grota shrugged off Tibball's impudence, hardly enamored of their nautical situation himself. "I asked m'self, what would Harth's reaction have been if those WERE his orders, an' I disobeyed? Figgered I'd be worse off that way than if I was bein' played false, so I went with the odds. Lucky fer us, these woodlanders turned out t' be as good as their word." He glanced at the otters aboard their vessel, standing down from their poling duties now that a Guosim logboat had clunked up against their stern to push the craft across the currents. "Reckern these folk ain't used t' rats - 'specially so many of us all at once."

The otter Overholt stood close enough to overhear Grota's remarks. "Oh, don't be too shore o' that, matey," she laughed. "We Redwallers've rubbed elbows with our share o' rats. Matter o' fact, we played host to a small horde of 'em not two summers ago."

Grota looked up in surprise. "A horde o' rats, y' say? At yer Abbey? How'd that come t' pass?"

"They were part o' Lord Urthblood's army - he's the badger who's foreseen a great crisis afflictin' all th' lands, and is tryin' to unite all creatures under a common rule. He had all manner o' beasts under arms - mice 'n' rats, otters 'n' weasels, hedgehogs 'n shrews 'n' foxes too, all servin' alongside each other under his banner. They all stayed with us for a spell, on their way to Salamandastron."

"Salamer ... what?"

"Oh, that's th' big mountain fortress away by th' sea. That's where he rules from now."

Grota, who'd not been privy to the conversation down in the quarry when Harth was first told of Urthblood, mulled this revelation over in amazement. "He saw a great crisis comin', y' say? Mebbe it's the same disaster Lattie's seen, that's got us goin' to Redwall. But a badger who's got rats in 'is service, now that's really sumpthin'! That'll surely help our respecterbility in the eyes of other beasts! I'd like t' shake 'is paw if'n ever we meet."

A stern-looking male otter standing alongside Overholt grimaced. "I'd be happy t' speed you along t' meeting him if ye like. I'll just chuck you overboard right now, an' you can ride these currents all th' way to th' sea."

Grota bristled at this sudden and unexpected display of hostility. "Hey, ain't no call fer that, mate! I never did anything to you t' rate such talk!"

"Mebbe you didn't, but some o' yore ilk did - an' I got the scars 'neath my fur t' prove it. If t'were up to me, I'd capsize th' whole lot o' ye an' swim back to shore, leavin' you t' sink or swim on yore own!"

Overholt tried to laugh off this bitter diatribe. "Aw, don't mind Tourki here, he'd never do anything like that. He spent 'is seasons as a slave to searats, an' it's colored 'is views of all rats. Understandable, really, but 'ee's a good cove at heart, an' would never harm anybeast who didn't give 'im good cause t' do so. Ain't that right, Tourki?"

Tourki wrinkled his muzzle in disdain. "There's a first time fer ev'rything, ain't there? If there hadn't been a rabbit 'mongst them, vouchin' fer 'em, an' if Wink hadn't declared 'em fit fer conveyin' to Redwall, I'da said let 'em all rot. Ratkind's no business of ours, 'cept fer slayin' 'em when they try'n harm goodbeasts. An' you can bet I'll be watchin' close, t' make shore no Abbeybeasts come to harm at th' paws o' these vermin."

"Hey, easy there! We ain't no searats, an' we ain't never made slaves outta woodlanders, nor anybeast else!" Grota pointedly refrained from mentioning all the atrocities Krayne's horde _had_ committed against nearby goodbeasts, or that the vermin fighters pressed into the ambitious fox's service might as well have been slaves, for all the freedom allowed them. "I dunno who these searats are, or what they did to innocent beasts, but we weren't never any part o' that! So don't go holdin' what some other rats did t' you against us!"

"Words, rat. Just words. I'll wait an' see what you actshully do, an' judge you by yore actions. An' woe to ye if they ain't to my likin'."

Tibball forlornly rested his chin in his paws. "Well, what a cheery little party this has turned out to be, eh?"

Grota and Tourki somehow managed to reach the far banks without coming to blows, and the rat lieutenant joined his fellow rodents in hastily disembarking so as to be away from the grim otter with all speed. The emptied rafts were turned about and ferried across the river again to retrieve the remaining rats and Guosim. By the time everybeast had finally been crossed, evening was fading toward a deep spring twilight.

"Well, that was a good job of it - didn't even hafta light any torches." Log-a-Log turned to address Harth. "Now, do we wanna press on for Redwall through th' night, or make camp here an' wait fer dawn?"

Rather than answering directly, Harth looked to Latura. "What say you, Lattie? Do we keep movin', or rest here 'til mornin'?"

"Here's fine. Wanna lay down now. Should be safe. No bad red 'round - left it b'hind us now."

"There's our answer," Harth told Log-a-Log, then gestured to Grota. "Get some fires lit for the oldsters an' young ones to sleep by. We'll still stand the usual watches, despite what Lattie says. Six oughta do, with relief at midnight."

"Watcher think ye're doin'?" Log-a-Log demanded of the rat commander.

"Setting a watch. Why do you ask?"

"T'ain't necessary. Ye're all under _our_ watch now, so you rats can all rest easy an' catch up on yer sleep, an' leave sentry duty to us."

"Thanks for the offer, but if it's all th' same, I'll do what's best fer my own rats. You woodlanders can do as you please."

"That wasn't a suggestion, friend."

Harth squared his jaw and stood straighter. "Wasn't exactly throwin' out idle requests myself. Standin' watches is what we've been doing during our entire slog to Redwall, and it's served us well. We look out fer ourselves, an' we ain't breaking good habits now, just because you're here."

"Oh? An' what would have ya thinkin' it's so all-fired vital fer you t' have some o' yer rats standin' watch 'sides us otters 'n' Guosim?"

"You mean besides yer murderous, rat-slayin' squirrel friends?"

"You let us worry 'bout them, if they show their brushtails again. We'll keep yer unsavory hides safe, don'tcha fret."

"It ain't just them. Mossflower's a big place, an' we ain't the only 'unsavory' beats abroad in it."

Log-a-Log cocked an eyebrow. "Sumpthin' ye'd care t' share?"

Harth gazed at the wide river, its darkening waters a sure and formidable barrier to any pursuit. "When we get to Redwall, mebbe. No need t' go into it now. Like Lattie says, we're safe."

"Well, if we're that safe, then there's no need fer you t' post watches, is there?"

Harth opened his mouth to challenge Log-a-Log further, but before he could, Winokur stepped forward, laying a restraining paw on each of the confronter's shoulders. "It seems to me that this part of Mossflower is free, and nobeast is bound to another's will. Redwall has fought hard down through the generations to ensure that our woodlands stay that way. With this in mind, Harth has every right to have some of his rats stand watch tonight if that is his desire, and nobeast has any place to forbid it. By that same token, the Guosim and the otters of Redwall have every bit as much right to post watches of their own, for whatever reasons they see fit. Now, I hope that settles this matter, and that we can accept that we all have the right to set watches - even if what we mostly end up watching is each other."

Harth's gaze went from Winokur back to Log-a-Log. "This otter speaks with wisdom beyond his seasons. Reminds me anew why Lattie was so determined that we seek out this 'Greenpup.'"

The shrew chieftain swallowed his umbrage. "Aye, 'tis oft been remarked - an' Wink's hadta play peacemaker on much bigger battlefields than this. I'll abide by his counsel, rat - but be assured yer guards'll have lots of company durin' their shifts t'night."

"Fine. Trust as much or as little as y' like, makes no difference to me, long as it still gets us to Redwall."

The tense situation thus defused to everybeast's grudging satisfaction, Harth and Log-a-Log set about assigning their respective watches and getting their large mixed encampment established for the night. Not long after, as full dark fell over Mossflower and the ability to see far across the landscape limited itself to how far the flickering campfires cast their light, Winokur huddled around one modest blaze with the shrew leader at his side. Latura was there too, not wanting to stray too far from her green-robed deliverer, although she seemed content for now to share the firelight without clinging as close to Wink as before. She was the only rat present, so the woodlanders felt free to discuss the situation openly.

"I dunno, Wink. D'you really reckon we're not makin' a whopper of a mistake in leadin' this crew right to Redwall's gates? If that fangface couldn't even resist givin' us a hard time over a liddle thing like postin' watches, how's he ever gonna agree t' live by Redwall's ways?"

"It will be up to Abbot Geoff to decide whether they'll even be allowed past those gates, and to lay down the law to them if they are - and then it'll be up to Alex and Colonel Clewiston and Mother Maura to make sure they follow those rules. And you too, if you decide to stay for awhile."

"I'm guessin' that'd be wise. Th' more paws on paw t' put down an uprisin', th' better." Log-a-Log glanced aside at his son, seated alongside him on their log bench. "At least Droge 'n' Buddy'll be glad t' see their old playmate agin, ain't that right, Pirkko?"

Pirkko gave a scowl that made him look a lot like his father. "I don't trust 'em, Dad. Not th' fighters, anyways. Durin' our march from th' quarry, I spent some time talkin' to some o' th' younger rats, ones 'round my age. Them an' th' mums 'n' dads seem awright, but a couple times they let slip things that made me 'spect they came from someplace that had a lot more beasts'n what we're seein' here now."

"Wouldn't surprise me if there's a lot they're keepin' from us," Log-a-Log snorted. "Like mebbe havin' a hidden contingent of their forces waitin' t' creep up behind us in a surprise assault now that we've left the safety of th' quarry. Could even be that's why Harth is so set on puttin' some o' his rats on watch t'night - so's they can watch out fer their buddies, an' help them find their way to our camp while most of us're slumberin'."

Winokur showed doubts over this assessment. "I'm not sure that really makes sense. If that were their plan, wouldn't they have attacked us before crossing the Moss? Now they'd have a wide river to cross to get to us, and all our rafts are on this side. They'd need boats of their own, and I didn't see signs of any other traffic on the Moss besides us."

"Unless'n they're already here on this side, lyin' in wait fer us ... "

"Well, it seems to me we've got somebeast here who might be able to shed some light on this matter." Winokur turned to Latura. "Lattie, what can you tell us about where you came from?"

The ratmaid seemed not to have heard the question at first, staring into the campfire's flickering flames for several long moments. Then she flinched as if being suddenly brought awake. "Oh, that. Came from a small village by th' sea, way far south an' east o' here. Crashin' waves by th' cliffs. Won't be there no more come summer's end."

Log-a-Log snorted again. "Small village, eh? She expects us t' berlieve that, when she's travellin' with a hunnerd an' a half rats?"

"Well, it's true, half-mousie! Me, an' Da, an' Cass, an' Empty, an' th' big one, an' th' small one, we all seven came from our village. Late winter, right 'fore t'was too late, been marchin' all that time ever since, right up to now."

"But, that's only six you named. What about - "

"Seven. T'were seven o' us from our village."

Winokur refrained from challenging her further, since it had long been apparent Latura was somebeast prone to getting a lot of the little things wrong. "Okay, so then, what about all the others? Where did they all come from?"

"Oh, them? Th' valley."

"The valley?"

"Ayup. That's where th' badbeasts took us when we were jus' tryin' t' get t' Redwall. Held us up too many days, almost made it too late, too late ... "

"What badbeasts're these?" Log-a-Log demanded, jumping in at this juncture.

"Th' foxie whose head went pop, an' 'is fraud witch, an' th' mean rat too - 'ee yanked on my whiskers, pained me sumpthin' awful."

"You mean Harth?" the shrew probed, and Latura nodded. "Yeah, I c'n see 'im doin' that ... an' lots worse b'sides. So, these bad beasts, they're th' ones who're with you here now?"

"Well, th' rats are, but most o' them ain't so bad. We left all the others b'hind."

"Others?" Winokur and Log-a-Log asked as one.

"Oh, aye. Weasels, an' stoaties, an' ferretses, an' more foxies too. Meanrat hadta slay a few of 'em who tried t' stop us leavin'. But he's on our side now, knows we gotta get t' Redwall t' be safe."

Shrew and otter exchanged knowing glances. "A horde," Winokur deduced.

"Aye, that sure explains a lot - an' from th' sound of it, Harth might've been one o' their highest-rankin' hordebeasts. Jus' look at how ev'rybeast snaps to attention when he starts barkin' at 'em! That rat's used to bein' obeyed, an' that's fer sure!" Log-a-Log looked to Latura. "What's he plannin' on doin'? What's 'is scheme?"

Latura stared blankly for a moment, then replied, "T' get to Redwall, an' be safe. Like I said, he's on our side now."

"An' what of th' rest of th' horde? What're their designs?"

"Designs? They don't got any ... 'ceptin' fer that foxie witch. She's got designs on 'er face, all painted with ash. Kinda spooky, but mostly silly, since she's such a fake."

Log-a-Log tried again. "Do they mean any harm to Redwall?"

"Um, no. Meanrat thought they might try'n foller us, since they wasn't happy 'bout us leavin', but they ain't. All still back in th' valley. Couldn't be sure at first, but things're clearer now."

"And where is this valley?" Winokur inquired. "How close?"

"Few days away, north an' east. Now that we've got th' river 'tween us an' them, no way they'd be able t' foller, even if they wanted to."

"But Harth doesn't know that for sure," Winokur surmised. "Hence, his insistence on posting his own watches."

"Well, he's also got th' Gawtrybe to worry about too, so I'll grant 'im that much. T'ain't squirrels we Redwallers hafta worry 'bout. Lattie, are y' certain them other vermin ain't gonna be cause fer concern t' us?"

"Nay, they ain't." Latura glanced out into the night, far beyond the circle of light around their small fire, toward the tower of Foxguard, a barely-visible needle of shadow against the darkening night sky. "Not t' us."


	12. Chapter 41

**CHAPTER FORTY-ONE**

Those same evening shades that saw the travellers safely across the River Moss also settled over Redwall with a placid departure of the day that wrapped the Abbey grounds and the surrounding countryside in a cozy atmosphere of springtime comfort.

"Don't you savor being up here at this time of evening, at this time of year?" Abbot Geoff remarked as the gentle tolling of the Matthias and Methuselah bells faded into the twilight, the diminution of sound and daylight merging into one. "Everything is so peaceful, so calm, and the longer dusk makes these ancient Abbey stones both muted and crystal clear at one and the same time, giving them sharp definition and relief even as the rich colors of daytime drain away to gray shadows."

Arlyn, standing alongside Geoff upon the walltop, nodded in agreement. "I know exactly what you mean, having felt that way many times myself over the seasons. Although I would hazard that summer remains my favorite time of year, when the days are at their longest and the effect is even more dramatic and it seems as if the warmer seasons can't possibly end. But spring eventides like this are certainly divine as well, especially after the long cold grip of winter. It's nice to be reminded that the world always renews itself and comes fully back to life after the season of frost and snow, and drab grass, and bare, lifeless branches."

"Well said, well said. Well, I should be on my way down now. Everybeast will be assembling in Great Hall for dinner - all who will fit, at any rate - and they'll be awaiting my blessing to commence the evening meal. Don't want to keep them waiting - especially our hungry young ones, or our hares, or else I'll never hear the end of it! Shall I reserve a seat for you at the end of the head table?"

"Thank you, Geoff, but I think I'll remain up here to keep an eye on Vanessa, at least until Cyrus returns. We might just take our dinner up here, since Nessa shows no inclination to tear herself away from these battlements. Whatever is keeping her up here certainly has her fixated."

Geoff lowered his voice. "It's probably just some figment of her fevered imagination, some further manifestation of her continued deteriorating mental state. The only reason she's up here now is because she has the irrational impulse to be here, and when her afflicted whims assert that she be elsewhere, then that's where she'll be. Don't look for any logic in her behavior, or you'll only frustrate yourself."

"You don't know that for sure, Geoff," Arlyn differed in a soft tone.

"I know enough to have realized long ago that the mouse I've called a dear friend for all my life, and called my Abbess for several seasons, has yet to reappear since Foxguard, and likely never will. Now, shall I have some platters sent up here if you've not joined us by dessert?"

"Yes, please. We'll need portions for myself, Metellus, Cyril and Smallert, and I supposed for Vanessa as well."

"Of course. Maybe you can convince her to take some real food - from what I hear, she's chewed on nothing but candied nuts all day!"

"We'll see what we can do, Geoff. But, you know how intractable Vanessa can be when she wants something - or doesn't want to do something, as the case may be."

"How well I do." Redwall's current Abbot heaved a deep sigh and favored his former Abbess with a long, lingering look of sadness as she, oblivious to him, leaned upon the crenelated battlements staring out into eastern Mossflower, just as she had all day. Geoff turned and started for the wallstairs. "Better you than I, when it comes to having to deal with her. I'll make sure to have some trays sent up later."

Not long after Geoff departed, Cyril climbed the steps in the company of Brother Jerome, and rejoined his weasel companion in their appointed vigil over the stricken mousemaid while the Abbey's resident torchmaster lit some lamps for them and then moved along the ramparts to do the same for the squirrels standing sentry duty that evening.

"What'd I miss, Smalley?" Cyril idly inquired.

"Jus' some nice ev'nin' bells, Cyr. Real purty they was too, rollin' out over th' countryside. Wish you coulda been here t' hear 'em!"

"Oh, I heard them, all right. I've got to learn to start stuffing wadding in my ears when I go up into the belltower." He glanced at Vanessa. "Any change with her? Is she at least showing any signs of growing tired?"

Smallert shook his head. "Nay, tho' you weren't gone all that long - just 'nuff t' ring those bells. They sounded more in time this time. Was Cy helpin' out?"

"Yes, he was. He doesn't have any classes this late, so he was free to lend a paw. You've got a good ear, to've picked that up."

Smallert playfully flicked at his sole ear. "Aye, th' one I still got works perfectly good. But I been dwellin' at Redwall long 'nuff now, an' been hearin' them bells ev'ry day, so's I can tell when they're ringin' true, an' when they're a liddle off. An' it's true what they say, Cyr - nobeast rings 'em as sure 'n' true as you 'n' Master Cyrus."

"Thanks. It's nice to know I'm still recognized for doing something well around here, even if it is just pulling on some ropes. So, are we heading down to dinner now?"

The weasel nodded toward the others. "Abbot Arlyn t'was just sayin' he thought we ought t' stay up here t' be with Nessa. Abbot Geoff said he'll have some food 'n' drink brought up fer us later."

"Gee, I've been up here all day doing that, and I'm kind of tired after that bell-tolling. I was looking forward to sitting down to a nice dinner in Great Hall now, not lazing around up here some more."

Arlyn gave a beneficent smile. "That's fine, Cyril. I'd say you and Smallert have earned at least that much of a reward for your efforts. Why don't the two of you go ahead and join everybeast else for the evening meal? Metellus and I can keep an eye on Vanessa until you return."

Cyril, suddenly abashed at possibly appearing selfish, shuffled one footpaw against the walkway stone, toe claws scraping slightly in the calm twilight. "Well, I don't want to put anybeast out, or anything ... "

"Not at all. You two run along while there are still seats at the tables to be had, and don't feel any need to hurry back, either. Linger over a nice long dessert too, if you're so inclined. We'll be fine."

"Thank you, Abbot. C'mon, Smalley, let's - "

Vanessa's loud voice, as if she were making a declaration to the whole world, suddenly cut Cyril off. "Okay, she's across! Bedtime!" And with that, she all but fell over in her haste to recline on the cooling sandstone, laying perfectly still.

"Oh no!" Cyril cried, a knot in his stomach. "It's happened again!"

Arlyn and Metellus raced to Vanessa's side, but the retired Abbot was quick to offer a diagnosis considerably less dire than feared. "No, Cyril, it appears she's only asleep this time. This isn't one of her deathly faints; her heart beats strongly, and she's breathing regularly. She's simply fallen into a very deep and abrupt sleep."

"Well, that's ... good?" Smallert surmised querulously. "I mean, ain't it?"

"Where Vanessa is concerned, my friend, your guess is as good as mine. But we can't just leave her lying here on the walltop like this - what if she sleeps right through 'til dawn? She'll wake up with a terrible stiff neck and back, at the very least, and maybe some bruises too. We've got to get her into a proper bed." Arlyn looked to the weasel. "Good Smallert, might I impose upon you?"

"Say no more, Abbot sir!" Smallert stepped forward and scooped Vanessa up into his arms with little effort. "Boy, she really is out like a snuffed torch. Light as a schoolmouse, too. No sign o' wakin' t'all. Where shall we take 'er - back to th' dormitories?"

"No, to the Infirmary, I think, where Metellus and I will be able to sit with her without bothering anybeast else. We didn't have any luck keeping her there all the way through the last two nights, but I've a feeling we might have better success tonight."

Smallert led the way down, placing each pawstep on the stone stairs with special care, mindful of the precious burden cradled in his arms. "Well, Cyr," he said over his shoulder, "sorry, but it looks like we'll not be makin' it t' dinner in Great Hall after all!"

00000000000

Given how busy events at Foxguard had kept everybeast there, it was well past nightfall before Tolar could host Custis for the Gawtrybe officer's second evening meal at the fortress. Now they and a couple dozen foxes and squirrels held modest court within the equally modest dining hall, enjoying a mild but savory vegetable stew and an early spring acorn salad prepared with the visiting bowbeasts in mind.

"It must be a relief to finally have all your carts unloaded, Lieutenant. You worked your squirrels hard to get that done."

"Not entirely unloaded," Custis corrected. "We'll be needing all of our woodbeasts' tools with us when we set forth to establish Gawdrey, whenever and wherever that is to be, so it didn't make sense to offload them. Most were kept right where they were, and those that were moved to allow for the unloading of other cargo have been replaced in the carts. If we were to receive word tomorrow to depart for the construction site, we could leave without delay."

"Did Lord Urthblood give you any idea how long it would be before he'd send word on Gawdrey's exact location?"

Custis shook his head. "We presume that Captain Klystra and Commodor Altidor and perhaps a few of this other birds have already thoroughly scouted out suitable locations in nearer Mossflower, and may already have chosen one, but we are to wait here until one of those winged messengers is dispatched to guide us to the spot. Of course, it would help matters along if His Lordship were officially notified that we've arrived." The squirrel's expectant tone left no doubt that he took for granted Tolar's cooperation in this regard.

"Of course, Lieutenant. While Lord Urthblood likely would have known your travel time within a day or two, and while he may already be aware of your presence here by means not available to any ordinary creature lacking his prescient sight, we do owe him at least the official courtesy of a communication, and we should not take anything for granted either. As soon as we finish our meal here, I will have a signal fire lit atop the tower, and flash a message to Salamandastron informing them of your safe arrival."

"Thank you, Sword. I believe that would be expected of us, even if there's a very good chance that Klystra is winging his way toward Foxguard even as we speak."

Tolar glanced out the window into the night. "Given the hour, Lieutenant, I suspect it would rather be Saugus if it's anybird at all."

"Too true! Falcons don't care to fly at night, but that would never impede an owl like Saugus, would it?"

"In any event, it will be good to have a contingent of your Gawtrybe staying behind at Foxguard, for at least as long as it takes to build Gawdrey. As proud as we are of this fortress - and as formidable as we swordfoxes are in close-quarters combat, and as secure as we feel in our ability to hold our home against any challengers - the one line of defense we've heretofore lacked has been distance weaponry - arrows, slingstones and spears which could be brought to bear from our walltop to hold foebeasts off long before they reach the outer bulwark. Sure, some of our weasels show basic competence in these areas, but nothing to compare to what the Gawtrybe can unleash at will. Thanks to your presence, we now possess that capability as well. With your bows added to our blades, I now feel as if Foxguard is complete in a way it's never been before."

"You are too kind, Sword, if accurate. All of Lord Urthblood's defensive positions must be bolstered to the fullest level of preparedness. It is an honor to know that we may help fulfill that role here at Foxguard."

Tolar savored a long sip of cool water from his own cellar's spring. "There was another role I was rather hoping you could fill for us as well."

"Oh?"

"Yes, a small matter of relations with the local woodlanders - or maybe not so small, depending on how you look at it. It seems the area residents still regard Foxguard with a mix of suspicion and fear, in spite of our good relations with Redwall, and despite our own overtures to convince them of our benevolence and good will. History has ingrained in them, I fear, an insurmountable and unbridgeable mistrust of our species, and I worry that with only foxes and weasels here, we will never be able to win them over. The few goodbeasts hereabouts who have summoned the courage to overcome their worst suspicions of us still think of Foxguard as a grim and ghoulish place, due mostly to Mona's pursuits ... "

"I can understand that, given what I saw when I poked my own head into her chambers earlier today. I mean, full skeletons, standing on display for all to see? And I don't even want to think about what was in all those jars. Don't you deem that all to be just a bit too ... macabre for its own good?"

"Mona's approach may be unorthodox, but her mastery of the medicinal arts and anatomy stands unparalleled, perhaps even by Lord Urthblood himself. You'll find no more skilled or accomplished a healer anywhere in all the lands - and nobeast in whose sure paws you'd rather find yourself, if you were to become grievously injured or fall seriously ill."

"Oh, of that I've no doubt. Her reputation in the Northlands is formidable, and the Redwallers spoke very highly of her as well. But, to return to the matter at paw, you suspect the local beasts would respond better to squirrels than to foxes and weasels?"

"Indubitably. I've sought for some time now to present a better face of Foxguard to the very creatures we're supposed to be benefiting, to show that we are not like any foxes they have ever encountered or heard of before. I'm hoping that the mere sight and idea of foxes and squirrels working together in cooperation might go some way toward that end, but ultimately, perhaps a more active role on your part might be what we really need."

"So, you'd like us to play ambassador to your warlord? The irony being, of course, that we Gawtrybe are every bit as much the warrior as you swordfoxes."

"But the locals don't know that."

Custis cracked a slight smile. "Nothing like a friendly, familiar squirrel face to overcome bias against creatures traditionally seen as less than trustworthy, eh? This is starting to sound a little bit like the Northlands all over again. Yes, Sword, we should be able to do this for you. We may have some time to kill before we receive final instructions on Gawdrey, and this will present a worthy pursuit to occupy us in the meantime. Then again, once our campaign in Mossflower gets fully underway later this season, the locals won't be able to help but see that we are here for their benefit, and the lengths to which we're willing to go for their security and well-being."

"Unless they end up sympathizing and commiserating with those you're here to target," Tolar pointed out.

"What?! No! Why would they? How could they? Is there any plausible reason to think they would?"

"I was speaking hypothetically. But a good tactician always tries to anticipate all possibilities and eventualities, and prepare contingencies for them. And let's face it, the campaign at paw is nothing if not a huge tactical and logistical operation."

"By all accounts, things up North went smoothly, without raising the ire of any other species."

"Perhaps. But the Northlands are not Mossflower."

Something in Tolar's tone struck Custis. "Surely, Sword, you are not opposed to this campaign? They are Lord Urthblood's direct and specific orders, after all."

"Opposed? Of course not. But I do wonder whether this represents the best use of our resources. It is not really what we were trained for."

"We were trained to follow orders, and to do what is necessary to safeguard the lands," Custis reminded the fox. "The provisions of the Accord must be honored, lest the peace between Salamandastron and Terramort be jeopardized, and that ruinous war resume. Surely you would agree that preserving this hard-fought peace takes precedence over all else?"

"I do not question the Accord, Lieutenant. And while I may question some of the provisions within that Accord, I was not there at its signing, nor was I ever on the front lines of our war with the searats the way you were. And nobeast can gainsay Lord Urthblood's prophetic vision, or second-guess his assessment of what must be done for the sake of the lands. But a policy and that policy's execution are not necessarily the same thing. I've been ordered to assist you in this campaign any way that I can, but I have not been ordered to participate in it directly. And to be perfectly candid, Lieutenant, I am glad of that."

"I see. I see." Custis idly swirled his beaker of fruit cordial - a gift from Redwall when the foxes last visited the Abbey for Nameday - and stared down at it in silence for many long moments. "I would not have guessed that you felt this way, Sword. I sensed some reservations on your part last night when we touched upon this subject, but I see now that I seriously underestimated your depth of distaste for this assignment."

"Distaste actually sums up my feeling fairly accurately. As I indicated last evening, I am happy that this will be mostly a Gawtrybe operation, and that my foxes and I are to be largely left out of the messier points of it."

"Ah. Tell me this, then: What would you do if Lord Urthblood _did_ order you to take a more active role in this campaign?"

"Then I would grit my teeth and carry out my orders. But I would not necessarily have to like it."

Before the awkward conversation could proceed further, the young swordfox Thale strode purposefully into the chamber and approached Tolar. "My apologies for the interruption, Sword, but a small team of squirrels have appeared on the opposite banks of the River Moss and are asking to be ferried across. They claim to be Gawtrybe."

Custis perked up, his consternation over the discussion with Tolar seemingly forgotten. "Ah, that must be Corporal Arway's patrol. I've been awaiting their arrival, and am most eager to hear whether their mission met with success. Sword, would you care to accompany me?"

Tolar joined the squirrel lieutenant in rising from their benches, diplomatically ignoring the fact that Custis seemed to think he could take it upon himself to order the deployment of Foxguard's ferry raft as a matter of course. "Yes, I would, Lieutenant. I don't recall you mentioning that you expected any more of your Gawtrybe."

"Oh, I didn't? Must have overlooked it, with everything else going on. It's just a small side-excursion Lord Urthblood requested of us - only three squirrels - although, if their quest proves fruitful, it could gain us much."

"Oh? Now you're piqued my curiosity ... " As they passed out of the dining hall along the curved corridor toward the fortress exit, Tolar became aware of a distant intermittent ringing. "Thale, would you please escort the Lieutenant and a rowing crew down to the canal to see to the crossing of our latest arrivals? I hear our elevator descending, and I'd like to be there to take the lookout's report directly, in case anything was spotted during this shift to warrant my attention. I will be along shortly."

"Yes, My Sword." Thale nodded and led Custis away, the squirrel none the wiser that Tolar might prefer to handle this debriefing on his own without the Gawtrye officer being around. The swordfox chieftain went around to the doorway that opened upon the tower's central shaft, arriving just in time to see Sappakit, Haddican and Roxroy stepping off the lift platform as it thumped down against the stone floor. "What news of the quarry, and the Redwallers?" Tolar inquired.

"It was as Haddican reported," Sappakit affirmed. "It appeared that fully half the party sent to the quarry has now left it, heading back to Redwall in the company of the second party that came upon them this morning. They reached the Moss around sundown, and spent all evening making the crossing in multiple trips. They're all across now, and the presence of campfires on the far shore suggests they've stopped there for the night."

"Hmm. Most curious. Do we know anything more about this new group that came upon the quarry after the Gawtrybe left it?"

"From what we could make out, it's a very mixed affair - some armed, some not. Males, females, children, oldbeasts ... it's almost as if an entire settlement was on the move."

"Odd. And a mix of species too?"

Sappakit paused a moment before answering. "No, sir, they all appeared to be of the same species."

"Which was?"

Sappakit paused again. "Definitely rodent. They were bigger than the Guosim they marched with, so we had some measure of comparison, if only just."

"Ah. So mice then?"

"We ... couldn't be sure, sir. They may have been larger than that. It was difficult to tell with any certainty."

Tolar stared hard at Sappakit. "Was there any sign of hostility between the newcomers and the Abbeybeasts and Guosim?"

"No, sir. They all seemed to be cooperating fully, in fact - shrews, rodents and otters all."

"There were otters with them too? Going back across the Moss?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, it must be some tribe of displaced or wandering mice. There's no other plausible explanation." Tolar's level gaze went from Sappakit to Haddican to Roxroy and back again. "You all have your doubts about this?"

"They could have been rats, My Sword," Sappakit said. "They could very well have been."

"But, that would make no sense! It would fly in the face of everything the three of you are telling me you observed."

"We cannot explain it, Sword. We can only report what we have seen, as faithfully as we are able."

Tolar stood silently absorbing this for many heartbeats. "Do you realize the implications of what you are suggesting? If these really are rats, in those numbers, here in this part of Mossflower at this exact time and under these circumstances?"

"Of course," Sappakit inferred. "Lieutenant Custis must be informed at once, so that he may - "

"Lieutenant Custis must _not_ be informed!" Tolar snapped, mindful of his recent conversation with the squirrel. "That is the last thing we want. He will demand to know why we sat idly by all afternoon and let them reach the Moss without sounding any alarm. And then, knowing him, he'll send out a large expedition to intercept them. Those rats - if they are rats - are travelling in the company of Redwallers and the Guosim ... which means there must be at the very least some tacit agreement of cooperation between them. Which means, by extension, that if we attack them now, we attack the Guosim as well. We attack Redwall." His gaze travelled over his fellow vulpines. "Are any of you ready for that? Because I sure as fur am not. This could get ugly, fast - the kind of ugly that leads to open war, or - if we are lucky - merely the ruination of our relationship with Redwall."

"So, what are we to do?" Haddican asked, his pawpads sweating at the dire scenario their chieftain had just painted - and his weren't the only ones. Roxroy's knees were practically knocking together, the young fox's legs having turned to jelly.

"We will do exactly no more and no less than we have already done. Those creatures - whoever and whatever they are - have crossed the River Moss, which effectively puts them outside our immediate jurisdiction. They travel in the company of our allies, apparently on peaceful terms. That makes this the affair of Redwall and the Guosim. It's their concern now, not ours."

"And if Custis does find out, eventually?" Sappakit asked. "If they are headed for Redwall ... Lady Mina's there ... it won't stay a secret forever."

"By then it will be too late for our overly-dedicated, overanxious, bushtailed friends to do anything about it. My immediate concern is heading off a crisis here and now. If Custis finds out days from now, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Or rather, I will, since these are my orders. In the meantime, the three of you may wish to avoid any in-depth conversation with the lieutenant. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go see to the unexpected arrival of even more Gawtrybe at Foxguard."

A short time later, Tolar stood with Custis at the mouth of the canal, watching from the banks as Thale and three other junior foxes poled and paddled their way across the nighttime river to pick up Arway's trio of Gawtrybe waiting on the other side.

"I'm surprised you're not having your weasels doing this," the squirrel lieutenant remarked. "They seem more suited to such labor than foxes."

"Normally, I would, except that I had all my weasels down in the cellars for training this afternoon, in addition to their regular watches and duties," Tolar reminded Custis. "They've all turned in for the night, except for the two I sent up to relieve Haddican and Roxroy for the high watch. But don't underestimate our own brawn, Lieutenant, just because of the finesse we show with our blades."

"I will try not to, Sword."

In short order the Foxguard ferry had collected the squirrel threesome and delivered them back across to the canal and the waiting commanders, with nothing worse than wet paws to show for the crossing. While Thale and his companions re-moored the raft to its post on the canal bank, Arway's team clambered ashore and saluted Custis. "Reporting in, Lieutenant sir!"

"I'd expected you before now, Corporal. I thought you might even arrive at Foxguard before us, due to us being waylaid a day or two past expectations in order to assist the Redwallers."

"We stopped at Grayfoot's Tavern on our way here," Arway admitted. "We thought he ought to be informed of the current campaign, if he hadn't been already. Turned out he already knew about it, from you."

"Naturally. Our route to Redwall took us right past there, so of course we stopped by to give him the news - away from the hearing of the freed slaves we were escorting to the Abbey, of course. And are you sure _you_ didn't drop in on our esteemed ferret barkeep principally to sample his offerings?" Custis asked this last with a knowing wink and a smirk.

Arway smirked back. "But, how could we, sir? We had no way of paying!"

"That will soon be changing." Custis clapped the Corporal on the shoulder as they all started back toward Foxguard. "But come, and tell us how your main mission fared. How did it go with Clan Barrenoak?"

"It was all that we could have hoped. Chief Deltus was most receptive to our requests."

"So, you think you've won an alliance with him?"

"I do, Lieutenant. In spite of his reluctance to play any active role in this campaign, he promised us much. I believe he may be the ally we sought to secure middle Mossflower, between Redwall and the southern rivers. With his eyes, ears and arms added to our strength, the scouring of this region should prove no challenge whatsoever!"


	13. Chapter 42

**CHAPTER FORTY-TWO**

The campfires died away to glowing embers long before dawn, but the vigilance of the watch-keepers never flagged. Otters and Guosim kept a sharp eye on the rat sentries, while the rodents stood alert to both their suspicious woodlander benefactors as well as something else neither named nor seen anytime before the night yielded to the subtle gray brightening of the coming day.

In the midst of the rats, Harth rose and stretched, shivering slightly. "Glad we ain't makin' this trek in the dead o' winter, but even these spring nights can grow pretty chilly. We shoulda kept those fires goin' through dawn," he said to nobeast in particular.

A passing shrew sentry, overhearing this, snidely commented, "Yeah, that's you rats fer ya, allers complainin' 'bout sumpthin'!"

Harth frowned at the insult, but held his tongue, instead turning to issue orders for everyrat to be roused in good time.

Meanwhile, closer to the river, Winokur found himself being shaken to a silvery, eye-squinting wakefulness by an overeager Latura, who positively beamed as she knelt over him.

"Hey, wake up, Greenpup! It's Redwall day!"

The otter Recorder sat up, pawing sleep from his eyes. "Oh, is that what it is? You're reminding me more and more of a certain mouse I know ... "

"I'm bigger'n a mouse!"

"Yes. Yes, you are." Winokur stood, seeing at once that all his fellow otters already seemed to be up and about; some even gamboled about in the rippling, eddying shallows of the Moss, while others stood on the bank shaking off the wetness of their aquatic excursions in sprays of myriad cast-off droplets. "Hey, am I the only riverdog hereabouts who's only just waking?"

Overholt grinned at him, her arms akimbo. "Aye, looks like, y' delinquent sleepyhead! You know every good otter likes t' rise with dawn's first light an' greet th' day with a nice liddle swim! Care fer a dip yoreself? It's nice 'n' refreshin' this morn!"

"Yah - and by refreshing, I'm sure you mean frigid. I'm no stranger to the Moss myself, remember, and I know full well it doesn't start to warm up comfortably until halfway through summer!"

"Pah! Yore spendin' too much time these days indoors with yore muzzle stuck in musty books 'n' moldy scrolls! You need t' shuck those green robes more often an' join yore fellow ruddermates in some honest waterplay! It's what keeps an otter young, y' know!"

Winokur reached up into one loose habit sleeve and scratched at a spot on his wrist there; he'd slept in his garment for the sake of warmth, but now began to regret that choice, thinking he should have opted to take it off and spread it over himself like a blanket instead. Still, it didn't usually itch like this the morning after, even on previous occasions when he'd also slept in his habit. He glanced over at Latura seated by a newly-rekindled cookfire, and noticed her idly scratching at herself as well ... and it occurred to him with a disconcerting realization that he'd observed any number of the other rats doing likewise the day before, during their march and crossing.

With a sudden change of heart, Winokur stripped off his robes and pushed them onto Overholt. "On second thought, a nice morning dip might be just what I need to build up a hearty breakfast appetite. Maybe I'll see how long I can stay under on a single breath. Here, would you mind warming this by the fire while I'm out for my swim? Make sure it gets good and hot through and through, but be careful not to singe it, please - Sister Orellana will never let me hear the end of it if I return to Redwall with a burned habit in need of mending!"

After a good long swim - during which, in spite of the river's chill, Winokur did indeed partake of some deep and prolonged dives - he climbed back out, shook himself dry, and retrieved his now-toasty habit from Overholt. She looked on with some small measure of jealousy as Wink shrugged into his garment.

"I can see why you wanted that warmed. Must be real comfy, gettin' into that after a cold swim."

"Oh, it is," Winokur readily agreed. "But that wasn't the main reason I wanted this hot. I'l fill you in more when there's time - right now it looks as if Log-a-Log is getting ready to decide our next move."

Shortly thereafter he found himself seated around a cookfire with Harth and the Guosim chief; the three unspoken leaders of this trek were joined by Latura, displaying her continued penchant for lingering at Winokur's side, although this time the otter took care to always keep at least a paw's breadth between them. The ratmaid seemed content to dwell upon her own private ruminations, and didn't have much to contribute in the way of conversation.

"So, y' made it through th' night without gettin' attacked," Log-a-Log mocked Harth. "Toldjer t'weren't no need fer you t' post watches."

"An' how do _you_ know it wasn't my extra rats on watch that held off an attack?" Harth countered with calm command, refusing to be goaded.

The shrew chieftain clearly didn't deem the matter to be worth discussing further, turning instead to Winokur. "Before we head out for Redwall, I'm sendin' a small team o' my Guosim back across th' river, We'll tarry here just long 'nuff t' see that they get across alright, then we can be on our way."

"Ferget somethin'?" Harth chided.

"Aye," Log-a-Log answered with a scowl, "fergot that we need t' leave at least one boat on the other side, fer when those still at th' quarry need t' get across. In case we're not back this way agin afore they need use of a vessel. An' also t' warn 'em t' keep their eyes open an' be alert fer any other hordebeasts that might be about." He looked from Harth to Latura and back again. "Anything y' hadta say on that score, while we're on th' subject, friend?"

Harth's cool demeanor held steady, not faltering for a moment. "No hordebeasts 'round here. Just us rats."

"Fine. Suit yerself. But when we get closer t' Redwall, we're like as not t' run inta some o' their Sparrafolk, out on their foragin' flights. If we're bein' shadowed in any way, they'll spot it from high in th' air long 'fore we would."

"That's ... reassurin'," Harth commented, silently noting this new bit of information; it would never have occurred to him that birds dwelt at Redwall as well. He turned to Latura. "Whaddya say, Lattie? What've you seen? Is it safe fer us t' be gone from here right away?"

"Oh, aye. 'Course it is! Today's th' day we get t' Redwall!"

"I'll hold ya to that." Harth said to Log-a-Log, "If you've no objections, I'd like t' be off soon as may be."

"Don't get yer fur mussed. We'll finish our breakfast, get that boat deployed, an' we'll be on th' march by th' time the sun's first rays're lightin' the treetops!"

"I'll hold _you_ to that too."

Log-a-Log, being an honorable creature, was indeed as good as his word. Even as some of the rats and otters were still enjoying their hot shrewcakes, a small party of the Guosim were dispatched across the river on one of the Gawtrybe rafts. Upon disembarking on the opposite banks, they securely beached the craft, waved and hollered farewell to their fellow tribesbeasts, and started inland to rejoin the Redwallers at the quarry. And then it was time for the rest to be underway for the final leg of their journey.

The first portion of the morning's march took them through open meadows with only sparse copses scattered here and there, the newly-risen sun warming their backs and the denser forest looming ahead. Just to the south and falling away behind them now, the surreal red tower of Foxguard slowly receded, even as it continued to dominate the lands like an omniscient sentinel.

Harth glanced back over his shoulder at the soaring structure. "Y' reckon they can still see us from there?"

"O' course," answered Log-a-Log, marching with the rat leader at the head of the procession even as his shrews and the Abbey otters flanked either side of the column just as they had the day before. "I been up at th' top o' that tower once, an' from there a beast c'n see halfway to the ends of th' world. They can see us clear as day, if they're even botherin' t' look this way, you can be sure of that. But watchin' us is about all they'll be able t' do, from over on the other side of th' Moss."

"Long as those damnable squirrels' shafts can't reach us here, that's all that matters to me. They can sit up there watchin' over all Mossflower for all I care."

"That's exactly what they do. Urthblood's foxes, at any rate. Nuthin' escapes their eye. They'd know, fer instance, if'n there were any vermin horde in th' nearer lands, plottin' any mischief." Log-a-Log's sideways glance bore into Harth, demanding an answer.

"Hypothetic'ly speakin'," the rat conceded at last, "a horde could base itself down in a low spot, out o' sight from that tower, an' build itself up at leisure."

"Oh? Then, hypothetic'ly speakin', somebeast oughta tell them foxes about that horde."

"I've no business at that fur-besotted place. Lattie was warnin' us away from it, even before those murderin' squirrels arrived on th' scene. Maybe she foresaw that that's where they were headed, an' that's why she made us steer clear. Fer what it's worth, I can tell you beyond doubt that with archers of that skill 'n' bloodlust at that tower, they've naught t' fear from any dangers in Mossflower that I could tell 'em about. But it's all ash in th' fire now, 'cos my business is ahead of us at Redwall, not behind us at a place where ev'rybeast wants t' see us dead."

Log-a-Log picked up on Harth's not-quite-admission of knowledge about a horde in Mossflower. "Lattie said last night that you slew some beasts who tried t' stop you. That true?"

Without missing a beat, Harth replied, "The only beasts I slew were ones who woulda slain us if I hadn't acted first."

The shrew mulled this over. "Guess yer can't be faulted fer that. But what about th' rest you left b'hind? Lattie made it sound like there was a lot of 'em."

"Their leader's dead, their fraud Seer's disgraced 'n' discredited, their plans're in ruins, an' those who ain't knifin' each other in th' back fer control of that sorry lot're most likely left chasin' their own tails down in their ditch." Harth grinned aside at Log-a-Log. "Hypothetic'ly speakin', o' course."

"O' course."

Winokur, meanwhile, had dropped back from his usual spot at the vanguard of the procession, opting to walk instead with some of his fellow otters on the outer flank of the large company. Overholt looked at him questioningly. "Gettin' tired of th' view from up front, Wink?"

"Not at all. I really should be up there, and when we get closer to Redwall I suppose I'll have to rejoin the leaders, but for now I'm quite happy to lag back here with the rest of you waterdogs."

"Yeah, I imagine it must get tryin', trampin' alongside all those rats, with that one simpleton hangin' on you all th' time. Nice to be back 'mongst civilized beasts, I wager."

"It's not that ... or not completely that, I should say." Winokur reached across his breast and rubbed at the fabric there, lowering his voice. "It's just that, much as I hate to say it ... I'm afraid they've got _fleas_."

00000000000

When Vanessa stayed to her Infirmary bed well past sunrise and late into morning, nobeast saw any pressing need to disturb her, or to prematurely end her peaceful slumbers - peaceful for her, and the rest of the Abbey as well. Arlyn and Metellus checked on her from time to time, and made sure that one or the other of them was always close at paw in case of another episode, but for all that they could tell she merely rested in a deep if ordinary sleep.

Then, halfway toward noon, she popped awake, sprang out of bed and fled the Infirmary before anybeast could stop her, raced down to the kitchens where she helped herself to an apronful of warm candied chestnuts, and bustled up to the walltop where she took up the same station of expectant watchfulness she'd occupied the day before.

Cyril and Smallert, quickly alerted to her activities, made their own way up the wallsteps to join the unpredictable former Abbess. On this day, however, she was not quite so unpredictable as usual, for the bellringer mouse and his weasel sidekick found Metellus already at Vanessa's side, leaning against the battlements with her as the mild spring breeze ruffled their fur and quivered their whiskers.

"I figured she'd be coming up here again, since she spent all day here yesterday," the young badger explained. "So, while she was down acquiring her sweet nuts, I simply ambled up to this spot to wait for her."

"Didn't letcha down, did I?" Vanessa playfully teased.

"No," Metellus answered, "that you didn't, Nessa."

"Aw, Nessa'd never let anybeast down, we know that," Smallert declared, his statement flying in the face of Vanessa's recent exploits, which had left so many of her fellow Abbeybeasts with their snouts out of joint. He innocently reached out to pluck a glazed nut from her supply. "Mmm, those do smell good there. Don't mind if I - ow!"

Vanessa smacked the weasel's paw away. "Nuh uh uh! Not for you, longneck! Gotta save these for somebeast special! But Cyril can have one if he wants, if he asks very nicely."

"Um, no thanks. I'm not really that hungry," Cyril declined, although in truth he was feeling somewhat peckish, and could not deny to himself that Vanessa's stockpile did indeed look delicious and smelled heavenly. But he did not want to be beholden to his nuisance of a nemesis in any way he could avoid. "Lunch'll be soon, and I don't want to spoil my appetite."

"Suit youself. Leaves more for us!"

"Um, us?" Metellus inquired, since she had yet to offer him any nuts either.

"Me 'n' her! She'll be here soon, then I'll share 'em with her!"

Smallert scratched absently around his missing ear. "Um, who'd that be, Nessa?"

"Why, the one who's coming, silly! She wouldn't be here soon if she was going instead of coming, now would she?"

Smallert digested this with an uncertain nod. "That makes sense, I s'pose ... " Moving around her to Metellus's other side, he whispered to the badger, "D' you really reckon somebeast's a-comin' that she knows about?"

"Oh, Smalley, don't be naive," Cyril said before Metellus could respond, not caring if Vanessa heard. "You know she's just being ridiculous and nonsensical, like always."

"I suspect Cyril's right," Metellus agreed. "We all know how Vanessa can be, especially these days. Besides, she's been either right here or in the Infirmary for the past day and two nights. How could she know of anybeast abroad in Mossflower outside our walls?"

Vanessa merely smiled serenely and leaned farther out upon the warm battlement sandstone, staring intently into the eastern forest.

00000000000

For the second time of the young season, Rafter became the first resident of the Abbey to spot a veritable army of creatures advancing upon Redwall.

The carefree sparrow was out foraging and freewheeling in the forest east of his home, fluttering from tree to tree in his quest for delectable branch-hugging caterpillars and spying out patches of clear damp earth which might yield the juiciest grubs and worms. He'd flown farther out than any of the other Sparra that day, and had these true depths of Mossflower all to himself on that glorious spring noontide ... at least for the moment.

Whilst alighted on a high limb in the midst of his latest food-oriented survey, Rafter spotted a flicker of incongruous motion somewhere off in the distant woods, his keen bird eyesight discerning the pattern long before any land creature would have. For long moments he sat nestled upon his lofty spot, staring as the first glimmers of movement glimpsed between the trees resolved into the distinct outlines of a few and then many marchers plodding along the known forest trails toward the Abbey.

And it soon became clear that a great many of the approaching beasts were known to him - not least of all the green-robed otter marching at their fore. Trilling a familiar song of greeting, Rafter spread his wings and pushed off from his high vantage, gliding down to alight in the path of the slow-winding column.

"Winkpal! Winkpal! Redwall, Redwall!"

Winokur, recognizing his Sparra friend instantly by both sight and sound, broke away from the main body and ran forward to embrace his avian acquaintance with light hugs around the neck. "Rafter, you old wormgobbler! Either you're out pretty far from the Abbey, or we're a lot closer to Redwall than I thought!"

"Prettyfar, prettyfar," the sparrow acknowledged. "Best wormfood out here, where nobird elsego. Not expectsee Winkpal and Guosimshrews sosoon, thoughtyou supposed begone all springlong?"

"Ah, yes, there's been a slight change of plans, you might say."

"Wouldsay, wouldsay." Rafter hopped around Winokur and peered past the otter at the other beasts shuffling to a halt while this unexpected reunion played out. "Um, Winkpal know yougot manyrats backthere?"

"It had met my notice, yes."

"Manymanyrats." Rafter flapped straight up into a momentary hover just above Winokur's head, gazing over him at the arrayed beasts stretching away between the trees, farther than he could see. Settling back down onto the ground, he amended, "Manymanymanyrats. Whyso manyrats?"

"It's a long tale, but in a nutshell, they're seeking sanctuary at Redwall. So, that's where we're taking them."

The sparrow gave him a comical head-cocked, skewed look of appraisal. "Methink Winkpal gone dafter than Rafter. Manyrats notbe wlecome at Abbey."

"They almost weren't welcome at the quarry either, but I'm hoping Abbot Geoff and the other Abbey leaders will prove more accepting than our gruff shrews and overcautious otters here. These rats have presented their cause to us most convincingly, and have told me things which left no doubt in my mind that we could not spurn them or turn them away. At the very least, I felt they deserved the chance to plead their need to the Abbot just as they did to us, and so, well, here we are."

"Mustbe someneed."

"Yeah." Winokur glanced back at Latura and her fellow villagers standing at the head of the column along with Harth. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. But the immediate question becomes, what shall we have you do now? You could fly back to the Abbey to let everybeast know to expect us, so that we'll not take them totally by surprise and risk an unpleasant reaction from the walltop lookouts. Then again, mere news that such a large body of rats is on its way to Redwall, even if you pass along my assurances to them, could still create a panic without me there to fully explain the situation. Perhaps it would be better if you joined us for the rest of the way, and we all arrive together. You know the current mood there better than I do, since I've been away for a few days. How do you think everybeast is likely to react?"

Rafter mulled this over, slanting his head to one side and then the other as he pondered. At last his eyes lit up and his bill clacked in satisfaction. "Rafterknow! Goodidea, goodidea! Mefly backto Abbey, know justwhat to do! Winkpal leave to me, allgood, allgood!"

Winokur regarded his enthusiastic birdfriend with some small measure of skepticism, knowing how flighty sparrows could be, and Rafter in particular. "Well, if you're sure. Remember, the idea is to keep upset and distress to a minimum, to avoid any rash response on the part of the Abbey defenders."

Log-a-Log, casting a jaundiced sideways glance at Harth, reluctantly stepped forward to offer his views on the matter. "If it'll help any, Wink mate, I got an idea of my own that should make Redwall less likely t' get in an uproar at our approach."

At this, Winokur's face cracked into a reassured smile. "Well, if we've got bird brains and shrew heads working together on this, how can it not turn out all right?"


End file.
